Life on Earth
by watneykingofmars
Summary: A series of drabbles and one-shots about Mark Watney readjusting to life on earth.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I wanted to write about** _ **The Martian**_ **, because it's currently tied with** _ **The Man from U.N.C.L.E**_ **for taking over my life. I'm considering doing a series of drabbles and one shots about Mark re-adjusting to life on earth. Please read and review!**

 **Warning: Mark has an established potty mouth.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to** _ **The Martian**_ **.**

On average, Mars is 225 million kilometers away from earth. That's approximately how far away I wish these reporters would go right about now. It's really kind of ridiculous. After all, they're supposedly concerned with my "health and well-being," but they never stopped to think that maybe _mobbing me while I'm trying to do some damn grocery shopping is a terrible idea._ I'd given up fairly early into the trip to the store-hadn't even made it to the coffee aisle. The stares of regular people I could deal with, to a point. Usually I just pretended other people didn't exist. Perfectly healthy coping mechanism, thanks. But somehow the local news station had gotten wind that Mark Watney needed some eggs, and it didn't take long before the news traveled down the grapevine. They'd probably publish my shopping list if I threw it at them.

It went downhill from there. I finally just abandoned my cart beside the tortillas and walk out. One of the reporters tries to ambush me with a microphone outside of the automatic doors, but I exercise every last ounce of my self-restraint and ignore him. Because I am a decent human being. But actually because I don't feel like getting bitched out by Lewis again. She was worse than my mother had been when I'd broken my grandmother's teapot age twelve.

I got in my car and immediately locked the doors. I mean, the reporters probably weren't scummy enough to climb inside with me, but I don't like taking chances. I didn't think the one outside had followed me to my nondescript Subaru. Probably thought I'd drive something fancier. Jokes on him.

I didn't notice until I tried to put the key in the ignition that my hands were shaking. Dammit. There was absolutely no reason to freak out, but my body was doing just that. After so long alone on Mars, grocery shopping was a challenge unto itself, and then there was the added stress of the newshounds. I could see my tombstone now: "Mark Watney, died of an aneurysm in aisle 12. Couldn't handle being a functioning adult."

I liked people, really. I liked being around people. But there were three things you could count on on Mars: the cold, the quiet, and the lack of other living beings. All of those were absent on earth-at least where I was-and it was like being thrown headfirst into a hornets' nest. Especially the sound. I had to sleep with a fan on now because it blocked out most of the night noises, like sirens and cars and people. And the house creaking and the dog pacing the floors. There are lots of noises at night. It wasn't like I was getting much sleep anyway, but I tried.

My adrenaline had finally ebbed enough that I could start the car. Somehow I made it back to my parents' house without incident. I was staying with them for now, since my apartment had been re-rented and my assets frozen. Saying "assets" made me sound like a spy, but really it was just a pain in the ass. I hated being dependent on other people, something that had only gotten worse after Mars, and now I couldn't even live by myself. Arguably, even if I still had access to my money I don't know if my crew or my parents would let me live by myself yet. They'd done a pretty good job not treating my like a glass sculpture, but every now and then I caught a particularly sympathetic look out of the corner of my eye. I usually ignored them. I was getting good at ignoring things. Maybe there'd be a world championship and I'd compete. Wouldn't win if Johanssen entered-it was sad how good she'd gotten at brushing my innuendos about her and Beck aside. Oh well.

The house was the same as I'd left it an hour ago. It was also the same as when I'd left it just over three years ago, and years before that on my first day of college. Some things stayed the way they were, as was right and proper. My parent's golden retriever came bounding around the side of the house, a tennis ball gripped in his jaws.

"Hey Buzz," I greeted him, stooping to ruffle his ears. "Let's go inside." He happily followed me in through the front door, never questioning me. Sometimes I wished everyone was like Buzz.

"Mom?" I called cautiously. Was it book club day? I couldn't remember, and I had no desire to be nice to a bunch of old ladies right now, well as they might mean.

"In the kitchen!" She answered. I took a left and saw her at the counter snapping green beans. "Did you get my eggs?" I shrugged.

"Not unless you want the world to know you're baking brownies." She frowned.

"Reporters again? NASA needs to keep them in line."

"That's what I keep telling them."

"Oh well. Guess we're having cobbler." With that decided, she went back to snapping the beans. I went into the livingroom. at this time of the afternoon the sun hit the couch at a perfect angle for napping. The green corduroy couch had been something Dad and I were thrilled to find on the side of the road. Mom had been less thrilled. No idea why. It was insanely comfortable. Buzz jumped up and laid on my feet, and in minutes, we were both asleep.

 **What did you think? Please also send me prompts for more chapters if you have any ideas!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Finally, a new chapter! It's been a rough week and a half. Thanks to Hilariter, who inspired this chapter with their review! Seriously, I would love more suggestions. Just give me a situation for Mark to be in. Reviews are lovely!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Martian.**

It was a week later when I flipped shit on someone. In my defense, I had gone a really long time controlling the urge to punch anyone in the face. I thought I was doing pretty good. Lewis had even stopped sending me reminders via text every morning that assaulting people, no matter how annoying, was not a Good Idea. The capital letters were implied.

So I wasn't really expecting any problems in the immediate future. The reporters had backed off somewhat, although I still caught them lurking. I was starting to think that maybe I wouldn't even see any peering through our windows at dinner time anymore. Because that had actually happened, and it was more than a little disturbing.

I had started to go on runs just as soon as I was cleared by NASA doctors. The forced inactivity had been chafing me, and it was a relief when they told me to go for it. I'd lost a lot of muscle mass on Mars, and it was going to take some time to build back up. I'd never been a particularly beefy guy to begin with. The first several runs I'd done were a disaster. There was really no other way to put it. I'd come back to the house gasping for breath and exhausted after about half a mile. My mother had to be convinced not to call an ambulance. I don't give up easily, though, and I slowly improved. Now I was back up to running two miles at a time at a pace slightly faster than a snail. Baby steps.

I returned from my most recent venture into the concrete jungle to find my mother on the porch. With some guy. Who I didn't know, but I immediately didn't like him. Sometimes I may make snap judgements.

"Mark," my mother said. Her tone raised my hackles. She sounded way too calm. "This is Mr. Davis. He has a talk show and he dropped by to talk to me." My mom had a habit of concealing her emotions behind a steel wall of politeness. THe more upset she was, the nicer she'd act. Right now she was well on her way to impersonating an etiquette teacher.

"Please," interjected the man, "call me Tony."

I turned to look at him. He had on a grey suit, but it wasn't an expensive one. Teddy wears expensive suits-I know because he told me when I spilled coffee on him one time-and this guy was nowhere near Teddy's level. His mouse brown hair was shellacked away from his face, and I was pretty sure he put more money into whitening his teeth than anything else. Total sleazeball. So far, the only indication I had that he was being an annoying sleazeball was my mom. I decided to give him a chance to leave.

"If you want an interview you have to go through NASA's PR," I told him, crossing my arms. "We'd prefer people not just showing up at our house." It didn't even phase him.

"Oh, I've already contacted NASA," he said with a smile, almost blinding me. "I just thought talking with your lovely mother would help me gather question material."

"Uh-huh. Well we have things to do, so have a nice day." I turned to go inside. Lewis never said I couldn't be rude.

He actually grabbed my arm. I stared at his hand for a few seconds, disbelieving. I've never wanted close contact with a walking dung heap anyway, but I've had an aversion to physical contact since I'd gotten back. He'd crossed a line.

"Get your hand off me," I growled. Something in my voice must have warned him, because he let go like he'd been burned. I rounded on the man. Screw playing nice.

"Look, _Tony_ ," I injected as much sarcasm into my voice as I could manage. I'm pretty sure it was dripping off the name. "This is private property. I have asked you to leave. You aren't welcome here. Go. Now. Before I call the police for harassment."

His facade crumbled a little. "I'm not doing anything illegal. You can't-"

"You're trespassing," I snapped, "So you can go now, or I can physically remove you."

We were standing nose to nose. I'm not super tall, but he was shorter than me by several inches. We were on my territory, too. I had every advantage and he knew it.

"Fine." He didn't look happy about it. Mom and I watched him scuttle back to his shiny convertible and drive off. His tires left black marks on the road.

I stalked inside and sat on a bar stool in the kitchen, crossing my arms to hide my hands. I knew without looking that they were shaking again, but this time it was from anger. Mom trailed me into the kitchen. I watched as she poured two cups of coffee from the ever-full pot on the counter. She added cream and sugar to one and left the other black.

She took the black one. I was still luxuriating in having things to add to my coffee-also, actually having coffee-and screw anyone who claimed that it wasn't manly. They've never tried hot potato water.

"I could have handled it, you know," she remarked mildly. I shrugged and put my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my hands. It was November, and getting colder. I probably needed to invest in some gloves for my runs.

"I know. But you shouldn't have to. What did he ask you, anyway?" She waved off my question.

"Nothing I haven't heard before. He just didn't have any tact." Probably something about how she felt about me almost dying, then. "They'll buzz off eventually."

I sighed. "I know. I just wish it would be sooner than later." She leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Patience is a virtue."

"And I'm not a saint."

She laughed and left the kitchen. I decided I should probably give Lewis a heads up. I pulled out my phone and texted her:

 _Still haven't punched anyone. But you should probably warn PR that I will NOT be talking to Tony Davis for an interview. Ever._

It took her all of two seconds to reply. I was probably assigned a special ringtone. Something like the imperial march from Star Wars. I decided that if it wasn't that it needed to be, and resolved to steal her phone to fix it at our next staff meeting.

 _Will do. You ok?_

I appreciated that she didn't ask what had happened right now. I'd just get angry all over again. I'd have to explain later.

 _Yeah. Just practicing my anger management skills._

 _Good,_ she texted, _I'll buy you ice cream._

I snorted.

 _It better be mint chocolate chip._

 _Deal._

I drank my coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

**New chapter! Yay! Thank you to everyone for all the wonderful reviews! I really love the feedback, And I'm glad you are enjoying this as much as I am.**

 _I absolutely have to be here_ , I told myself. Repeatedly. I may even have said it out loud once or twice. That was definitely why the kid sitting across from me was staring. Totally not because he somehow recognized me, probably because my face was plastered all over media. He was wondering why the crazy man was talking out loud, and not why astronaut Mark Watney was in hell with him.

Or the DMV. Same difference.

Just then his sister, who couldn't have been more than two, started to cry. Again. She was gaining volume as I lost hearing. The mother was too busy talking on the phone to her husband, arguing about who's turn it was to give the dog a bath or something. They'd changed topics multiple times and I'd stopped listening. The kid went back to his handheld game.

I breathed a sigh of relief and slouched down in my very uncomfortable plastic seat, tugging my baseball hat down firmly. I had to get my driver's license renewed. I really hadn't thought it would be a big deal when the letter came in the mail. I'd pay my fee, they'd send it in the mail. That was when they told me that no, I absolutely could not renew it online. Or over the phone. I had to physically go to the DMV.

So that's why I was in hell. I had come early in the morning, but two and a half hours later I was still waiting and it had started to fill up. The little girl across from me was not the first child to protest being here, and if my number didn't get called soon I was going to join in with the wailing. I decided that bursting into tears wouldn't help me maintain my anonymity, though, so I held off. For now.

"37" came a bland voice over the intercom. It perfectly matched the carpet. How does a voice match a faded blue carpet with white specks? The world may never know.

I walked, a little too eagerly maybe, up to the open window. A sour looking old lady with steel grey hair scraped back into a tight bun squinted at me through red cat-eye glasses.

"Hi," I said, giving her my best _I'll be nice if you are but I'll start smile_. "I'm here to get my driver's license renewed."

"Old license, Proof of address, social security card. Please." The please sounded like an afterthought to me, but I decided not to call her on it and handed over the requested items. She snatched them and started typing on her computer. Apparently she didn't watch the news or she didn't care, because there was no comment on my name. Either way, I was grateful. I didn't feel like having the whole Mars conversation right now.

"Have a seat. Your number will be called again when they are ready to take your picture," the DMV lady intoned. I looked up, barely catching my documents before they slid off the counter.

"Thanks," I squinted, "Gladys." I scuttled back to my seat before she could reply.

The mom and her kids were still there, but apparently the kid's game no longer held his interest. He had a new hobby-staring at me. I tried to ignore him.

"'Scuse me," he said. I looked around, hoping for an escape, but there was nothing. "'Scuse me." Still the kid. I turned towards him cautiously.

"Yeeees?" He frowned at me, staring hard. He was probably around seven or eight, and his messy brown hair flopped in his eyes. He reached up to push it away.

"Are you that astronaut?" He looked as if he expected me to say no, prepared to be disappointed. I sighed again. I did that a lot now. If he was an adult I would have proclaimed that the moon landing was a fake and there was no such thing as astronauts. But he was a kid, dang it, and kids don't deserve that. Instead, I held my finger up to my lips. His eyes got real wide, like he couldn't believe it. Before I knew it he was in the seat next to me.

"You went to space," he proclaimed in a reverent, hushed voice, like we were in church. I glanced at his mom, but she was still on the phone and not paying attention.

"Yeah," I agreed. His eyes were going to pop out of his head at this rate.

"What was it like?" I thought for a moment.

"It was awesome," I told him, and he nodded gravely. I had confirmed his deepest suspicions. "Dark. Kind of cold. Lots of stars."

"I want to be an astronaut when I grow up," he told me. I looked at him. He looked at me.

"Take a coat when you go to space," I advised. "Like I said, it's chilly." He beamed at me as if I'd given him the secrets of the universe.

"Ok. Can I take a picture with you?"

"Sure," I shrugged. We were friends now. Friends can take selfies. He handed me his device and showed me which button to press, because apparently my arms were longer so I had to take it. I took off my hat and sunglasses for the picture so you could actually tell it was me, and put them back on immediately after.

He babbled away after that. His name was Carson, what was mine? Mark. He liked science (it was his favorite subject at school) and they were learning about the solar system right now. His favorite planet was saturn because of the rings. What was mine? Earth. Why? Because there were dogs here. I showed him a picture of Buzz and he told me about their poodle named Shredder (like off the teenage mutant ninja turtles). Then they called my number and I had to go.

"Bye Carson," I told him.

"Bye Mark!" he said, returning to his original seat. "I'll send you a picture of me in space someday!"

"I'm counting on it," I told him.

I walked out of the DMV after another hour.

"Huh," I muttered. "Guess it wasn't hell after all."


	4. Chapter 4

**I kind of wanted to do more with this chapter, but I think it turned out alright. I also meant to update this yesterday (apparently Mondays are my Martian days) and that didn't work out so well. It's that kind of a week. My schedule is all thrown off because of the end of the semester. For anyone who is also reading my Man from Uncle story, I hope to have that updated in the next day or two. Thanks for your patience!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Martian. I only love it so, so much.**

I blamed the book club.

No really, it had to have been them. It's not like there weren't other possibilities, but the weekly event of older-women-invading-my-house seemed most likely. Ok, so it wasn't my house, and it was also entirely possible that the germs had come from somewhere else, but I still hadn't completely forgiven Margaret for trying to hug me last week. Less trying-more succeeding. Mostly because I couldn't roundhouse kick a seventy-five year old woman.

In any case, I could feel a cold coming on. I hadn't actually been sick in a while. Malnourished? Sure. But any germs not my own were absent on Mars, and after that the NASA docs had kept me so loaded with antibiotics and vitamins that I hadn't really had a chance to get sick.

Now that they had been assured that I was not going to drop dead of the plague, NASA had backed off. That was when the germs had struck. Right now it was only a headache lurking just out of reach and an irritating scratchiness in my throat, but I had no doubt that it would soon turn into a full blown cold, complete with blocked sinuses and general misery.

That left me to, very sullenly, be working on my second glass of powdered vitamin C water in a vain attempt to head the coming illness off at the pass. I was also trying to re-read _Robinson Crusoe_ , but I was thirty pages in and had just remembered why I abandoned the book in the first place. It was really freaking boring.

I had just started page thirty-one over for the third time (because nothing had made it past my brain filter the first two) when my mom walked into the sunroom. She took in my nest of blankets, orange-ish water, and disgruntled appearance and made some deductions that her mom-ness had honed over the course of my lifetime.

"Not feeling well?" she asked as she came further into the room.

"I think I'm getting sick," I told her. As much as I wanted to be a drama queen about it, there was no point in worrying her more than she already would be. And I had no doubt she had already started-moms do that, so I've been told. By her. A lot. It was no use trying to lie to her either. I had never been accused of being subtle.

"Well, it happens this time of year," she said, but with a frown.

"Yeah, 'tis the season."

"Why don't you go take a nap before dinner?" She suggested. In true motherly fashion, she believed that rest and fluids would cure just about anything. I was inclined to agree, especially if it meant that I got to sleep.

"Sure. I just want to finish this first." I brandished my glass of water that tasted nothing like a real orange. I'd had worse though (I still refused to discuss potato skin tea) and at least I could pretend that this was useful.

My mom left the room again. I could hear her puttering around in the kitchen, getting dinner ready to throw together. She was a big fan of easy and hot dishes, especially in the winter, and had told me and Dad earlier that we were having tuna casserole for dinner.

I managed to choke down the rest of my drink and abandoned my book on the coffee table. I made it to my room and burrowed under the blankets-because it was cold, ok? Not because they were really, really soft-and fell asleep

* * *

I woke up an indeterminate time later because I was hot. I wish I could say that I meant the wildly attractive hot, but it was more like my brains were boiling hot. I threw off the cover that had been so nice earlier and sat up on the edge of my bed, head pounding.

The light had definitely faded, but since it was winter that could mean it was 6 p.m. or 6 a.m. I wasn't sure where my phone had wandered off to, and since I used it as an alarm clock I also had no way of knowing what time it was. I decided to make my way downstairs to see if anyone else was alive or if I was the last man on Earth. I'd rather that not be the case-being the last man anywhere wasn't as fun as it might sound.

My parents were in the livingroom watching one of the original Star Wars movies.

"Have you seen my phone?" I asked them. Woah. Voice sounded a lot worse than earlier. This dang cold was moving in faster than expected.

"I think it's on the counter," my mom told me, glancing away from the screen to look at me, all concerned like. "And there's a plate for you in the oven."

"Thanks," I said, padding into the kitchen.

My phone was, indeed, on the kitchen counter, where I had probably left it earlier while trying to drink the equivalent of twenty oranges. Or something. Martinez had sent me a picture of grumpy cat in a santa hat with the caption "dashing through the NO," but other than that nothing new. My laugh at the cat caused the scratchiness in my throat to become a tickle and I started coughing. Ugh. I hated being sick.

I opened the oven and stared at the plate of tuna casserole. It stared back. I closed the oven again-better not. I wasn't really that hungry anyway. Grabbing a glass of water, I went back upstairs to bemoan my fate.

* * *

Over the next two days, the cold did not get better. In fact, by Saturday it was in full swing and I was fully miserable. As well as having a headache and stuffy nose from blocked sinuses, the drainage was giving me a nasty cough and nausea.

Mom had exiled me to my room and sprayed every surface I had touched downstairs with lysol until I could smell the "fresh mountain breeze" from my bedroom, upstairs. I could tell she was getting worried, especially after I had been up half the night puking my guts out, so I wasn't especially surprised when Beck showed up.

I had been unsuccessfully trying to nap (again) when there was a knock on my door.

"Come in," I called. The door creaked open and Beck's head appeared around it.

"Hey Mark," he said. After that he seemed a little unsure as to what he should do. I would have laughed at him, except laughing set off the coughing, and that hurt.

"You can come all the way in. It's ok," I finally said after a weird couple of seconds. He took that as his cue that I wasn't going to bite his head off. I sat up, with a little effort. "My mom called you, didn't she?"

"Yes," he nodded, setting what I liked to call his doctor bag down beside the bed. I sighed.

"Look, it's just a cold," I told him, "there's really no reason to freak out."

"I completely agree," Beck said, "which is why I'm going to check you out and inform your mother that there is absolutely no need to freak out."

"Huh?" I said, eloquently. I wasn't following. Beck raised one eyebrow. He had the I'm-a-doctor-so-you-have-to-listen-to-me thing down pat.

"It probably is nothing. But after everything" he waved his hand, apparently to encompass my entire life, "it's better to go through the motions to reassure your parents than to brush it off. Besides, if it turns out to actually be serious Lewis would have my head if I let it get by me."

Oh. I guess that made sense. I said as much, and was rewarded with a rare Beck smile.

"Of course it does. Now sit up straight."

It only took like ten minutes for Beck to do his doctor thing and decided that it really was just a bad cold.

"It was kind of inevitable, you know," he said as he put away his stethoscope. I was distracted trying to figure out how to steal said stethoscope, but I knew what he meant.

"I know," I sighed, "but I was hoping that I could put getting reaquainted with germs. They were not what I missed about Earth." Beck snorted.

"No kidding. Anyway, rest and fluids. You know the drill. If the cough doesn't go away after awhile I'll have to check and make sure it's not turning into a sinus infection, but I think you should be fine."

"Thanks," I said, sincerely. He nodded and left.

Beck couldn't keep anything on the down low, though. At least that explained the Get Well Soon card that showed up the next day, signed by the whole crew. Accompanied by a balloon.

Eh, what the hell. I like balloons.


	5. Chapter 5

**I almost forgot that it was Martian Monday! Christmas break will do that to you. Anyway, here's a little tlc for Mark this week. Thank you so much for the reviews! I really enjoy them. Be assured that I have many more chapters planned out for this fic.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

The rest of the Ares 3 crew and I were due at NASA headquarters for our monthly eval. I was really hoping that I would roll out of bed this morning and see an email saying "Hey! We realize that this is entirely unnecessary, so we've decided to cancel. Have a great day!". There were two problems with that. One: nobody at NASA used that many exclamation marks in a row. Two: it didn't happen.

I really wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, I'd been dreading it for almost a week now. It wasn't so much the actual (incredibly boring) meetings we were required to sit through for hours on end, so much as what came before and after. There was always a crowd of reporters and other various and sundry news-ish people milling around outside when the crew came and left, like sharks that had smelled blood in the water. The first time it caught me off guard. Didn't they have something more important to do? It got progressively worse the next couple of times, since reporters desperate for a story can be pretty brutal.

I knew I was psyching myself out, but I couldn't help it. I was tired of all the craziness, and the noise levels brought back really, really high levels of anxiety. So far my solution was to just push past as quickly as possible. I was hoping that today would be better, since the crew had all arrived at the same time. Maybe Lewis' cold stare would ward them off.

That hope was in vain.

Maybe the sight of all of the crew together threw the reporters into a frenzy. Maybe the moon was full and the tides were affecting people's brain chemistry. I don't fucking know. It was, to continue my earlier analogy, like somebody had dumped a bucket of chum in the water. I was feeling like a very small fish.

The crowd of reporters pressed in way too close. I was in physical contact with at least two people I didn't know. Someone else had shoved a mic in my face and was babbling on about something-I don't know what. The ringing in my ears kept me from comprehending.

Lewis swooped in like an avenging angel. Seriously, I don't know how she did it, since she's barely taller than Johanssen, but suddenly she was in between me and the mic and was saying something in a tone that made it clear that she was Not Happy. Capital letters intended. I was content to hide behind her.

Then the rest of my crew were there, and somehow we made it through the doors and into the relative calm of the inside of NASA. We had come in a side door, so at least there was no one around to see my completely fall apart. Which I promptly did.

I had felt my chest getting tight outside, but now I also felt like I was going to throw up or pass out. I leaned against the closest wall and slid down to the floor, head on my knees because it helped, for some reason.

"Mark?" That was Beck. He sounded concerned, but I really couldn't be bothered to wonder why, because, well, panic attack. I was hyperventilating and I knew it, but that didn't mean it was easy to stop. In fact I was doing a terrible job.

"What's wrong? Should I get someone?" Lewis. She had dropped the "hand of God" act and also sounded concerned. Great. It suddenly occurred to me that they wouldn't have seen me like this before and it got even harder to breathe.

"No, it's ok," Beck said, "it's a panic attack. More people would only make it worse." Thank heavens that man was smart. I tuned them out in favor of trying, unsuccessfully, to control my breathing.

This wasn't my first panic attack. After finally getting back to earth they occurred with annoying regularity. Every time I thought I had gotten it under control, something would happen and set me off again. Knowing didn't really help, since it was a flight or fight mechanism and not an emotional response to any one thing. My fight or flight was still on overload after almost dying constantly on Mars. Thanks for that, you big red asshole.

A tap on my shoulder brought me back to the situation. I flinched, a little violently, in surprise, but Beck ignored it.

"Hey, Mark, we need to get your breathing under control before you pass out." The blood roaring in my ears backed up his statement. Breathing would be good. "I'm going to count to ten, and you take a breath for each number."

I tried really hard. It hurt and it wasn't easy, but by the time he got to ten (counting really, really slowly) I had stopped hyperventilating, at least.

"Good job, Mark," Beck said, and somehow managed not to sound condescending. I don't think he has a mean bone in his body. I took another deep breath and raised my head enough to look at him.

Beck was kneeling beside me on the cold linoleum, but that wasn't what surprised me. On my other side was Lewis, sitting on the floor but very carefully not touching me. She was obviously trying to give me some space (haha, had enough of that, thanks). On the other side of the narrow hall were Martinez and Johanssen, both kind of looking a little panicked themselves. I must have scared the crap out of them if Martinez hadn't cracked any jokes. Vogel was standing in front of the door, blocking it.

"Sorry," I managed to rasp, but Lewis cut me off.

"Don't you dare apologize," she said. The angel of death glare was back, so I didn't argue with her. Not that I really wanted to anyway.

"You alright, man?" Martinez asked tentatively. I bobbed my head enough to be visible, hoping that was enough. Apparently it was.

"How often have you been having panic attacks, Mark?" Beck asked. Dammit. I take back what I said about being glad he's smart. He's too smart.

"It depends," I equivocated.

"On what?" Beck was also patient.

"What kind of week I'm having," I said. No point in lying about it, he'd be on the lookout now.

"How many on average? Per week."

"Sometimes one," I hedged. My hunched position became uncomfortable so I leaned my head back against the wall.

"And other times?"

"...two or three." Martinez and Johanssen looked a little horrified. Vogel was his normal stoic self, and I didn't dare turn my head to look at Lewis.

Beck hmm'd a little to himself, but otherwise made no comment. I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

"We'll talk about it later. I've got some suggestions that might help." He stood up and offered me a hand, which I accepted. "For now, let's get these meeting over with." Everyone else followed his lead, but I was sure that we would _all_ be discussing this later. That was ok, though, because it was good to know that my crew had my back.

And somehow there was not a single reporter when we left later. Not a single one. I'm convinced that Lewis was behind it.


	6. Chapter 6

**I's short, I know. But there will probably be several parts to this one, and I really wanted to get something up today after missing last week. Think of it as an opportunity to review and tell me what you think is/should happen! For anyone waiting on an update to Return the Favor, I'm working on it, I swear. Halfway done. Ish. It's been a rough week.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Late night television was absolutely the worst. This was coming from a guy who had suffered through countless seasons of bad seventies shows on Mars. I was so tired of infomercials, but apparently not tired enough to fall asleep. I thought for sure that another repetition of "but wait, there's more" would do it.

This was my third night in my new apartment. I was beginning to wonder if I had made a mistake by choosing one in Washington, D.C., even if it was on the outskirts and barely counted as the city proper. Maybe I should have just bought a house in...in Wyoming or something. I didn't know what the population of Wyoming was, but I was fairly certain it was way lower than D.C.. I should just find a nice shack or a cave or something and become a hermit.

Outside another siren went screaming into the night. I winced. Seriously, how many emergencies happened in one twenty-four hour period? At this rate, the population should have significantly decreased, but it never seemed to. All of the sirens reminded me way too much of the alarms from my NASA equipment, and let me tell you, it's no fun jolting awake thinking that your oxygen alarm was going off and you were suffocating. Truthfully, my reaction to the sirens had lessened over the last three days. I guess Beck was right and exposure really would help over time. They still had my nerves jangling.

The insomnia, on the other hand, had not gotten any better. In fact, I think it had gotten worse since I moved out of my parents' house. I didn't regret it-there's only so much a grown man can take of living with his parents-but I missed the familiar surroundings. I had found myself falling asleep for short times in the afternoon and (very) early mornings, but other than that it was impossible. I think I was averaging three or four hours per day, and I didn't need Beck to tell me that it wasn't enough. I was almost desperate enough to try the sleeping pills he had offered to prescribe me, although I really didn't want it to come to that. Some part of me was hoping that it would straighten itself out.

For now, I was gaining an in-depth knowledge of as-seen-on-tv products. Lucky me.

* * *

I tripped over the damn cat taking out the trash the next morning. I was on the third floor of my apartment building, so it was always a fun chore. I tried to make it as painless as possible by not putting it off.

The cat must have been hanging around the dumpsters waiting for someone to throw out something worth eating. I was so focused on my task that I didn't even see it until my foot made contact and I almost face planted into the asphalt.

"What the-" I whirled, trying to figure out what I'd tripped over. A scruffy looking grey cat looked back at me from around the side of the dumpster. "Oh. Sorry." I was apologizing to cats now. Great.

Said cat meowed at me, apparently annoyed that it had been distracted, and slid out from behind the dumpster, more interested in my bag than me. It crouched a foot away and meowed again.

"Nuh-uh. Nothing in here to interest you. Move along." I made a shooing motion with my free hand, hoping that the tricks I'd learned from Obi-wan would work. Cats, for future reference, are apparently immune to Jedi mind tricks. It wiggled a little closer. I moved over to the dumpster and threw my trash bag in, hoping the noise would be enough to scare the cat away. Instead, I turned around and almost tripped over the dang thing again.

"Would you please cut that out?" I huffed. It-he? she?-wound around my legs, maybe deliberately trying to trip me up as revenge for earlier. I stared down. The cat stared up. Then it laid down across my shoe.

"Seriously?"

"Mrrow."

"No."

I scooted my shoe out from under it and beat a hasty retreat inside. There. Problem solved.

* * *

An hour later there was a knock at my door. I opened it cautiously.

"Hello?" It was my building manager. She was an older lady, no nonsense, but not unreasonable. She had the cat in her arms.

"Is this your cat?" I stared at it.

"No, it's not."

"It's been sitting outside your door for the past half hour." She shifted impatiently. "Look, I really don't care as long as it behaves, but don't leave it in the hall." She shoved the cat into my arms. "And it could use a bath." She walked away.

"But-" I looked down at the cat. It looked up at me.

Then the dang thing started purring.


	7. Chapter 7

**So I realized I made a mistake in the last chapter. I wrote "Chicago" instead of "D.C." For the purposes of this story, Mark moved to Washington, D.C. That's where NASA headquarters are, and it makes sense to me that Mark would move there to be close to his job and stuff. I've changed it in chapter six, so that's done. This cat story is apparently going to span several chapters, initially. Expect at least one more in this arc, but be rest assured that he won't be going away after that.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed/favorited/reviewed! It really makes my day! I don't reply to all reviews, but rest assured I read and appreciate every word. If you ever want to discuss a fic or even just say hi, just send me a PM!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the concepts.**

* * *

The cat was staring at me again. I knew, because I was staring at it, too. We had kind of a face off going on. I was sitting on a bar stool at the counter in my kitchen, and it was sitting in the middle of the living room with a self satisfied smirk on its face. I wasn't previously aware that cats could smirk, but let me tell you-they do.

"I don't want a cat," I told it. "I'm a dog person."

The cat didn't reply. Thank god. I don't know what I would do if the cat started talking back. Bad enough that I had a one way conversation going on. The landlady was right, though, it needed a bath. I could at least do that much before taking it to a shelter.

I spent the next five minutes searching the internet to figure out if I could use human shampoo on cats. Short answer? Not recommended.

Okay. So. Here I was with a cat who was in need of a bath and probably food and who-knew-what vaccines-if I got rabies and died I was going to be so pissed-and here I was, knowing nothing about cats. I'd had dogs since I was five, and I figured that they couldn't be _that_ different, but I didn't want to take any chances. For one, I thought cats hated water. How was I supposed to give it a bath without losing an eye or some vital organ? There was only one solution. I picked up my phone and dialed.

" _Hello?"_ said the voice on the other end of the line after the fourth ring.

"Hey, it's Mark Watney. I, uh, could use some assistance. Advice, really. Are you busy?"

There was a pause, as if she was trying to determine if I was pulling her leg.

" _Are you serious?_ "

"Very," I said.

" _Fine,"_ she sighed, " _I'll be over in like, fifteen minutes._ " She hung up before I could answer. It was my turn to sigh.

Mindy Park was on her way to save my sorry butt once again.

* * *

The knock on my door came approximately sixteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later. Not that I was counting. I had spent the time carefully skirting the cat in the middle of my living room in order to make the place a little more presentable. It wasn't hard-I don't own a bunch of stuff. Most of what I brought was either clothing or books. I had a couch, a t.v., and a bed in the way of furniture.

The light rap had me at the door in an instant. I opened it to find Mindy standing there with her arms crossed, dressed in faded jeans and a NASA hoodie. Her short blond hair was pulled into some approximation of a ponytail, with loose strands escaping to frame her face. She looked grumpy.

"What's the problem, Mark?" I moved aside as she breezed into the apartment, pushing her glasses up her nose as she went. I wordlessly pointed to the cat in the middle of the room. It had perked its ears up at the sound of the door and another human, and was currently flicking its tail and staring at Mindy and not me, for a change.

The change was abrupt and startling, at least for me.

"Oh, hello, pretty kitty!" Mindy crouched down and held out her hand to the cat.

"I wouldn't bother, it doesn't listen well-" I started, but the cat walked right over to investigate her outstretched hand. Figures. After a cursory sniff, it started rubbing all over her while she made cooing noises at it. I could hear the purring from where I was standing, although whether that was from Mindy or the cat I couldn't tell.

I sighed. Again. But that was why I called her in the first place-Mindy Park, resident cat whisperer.

"Where'd you find this guy?" She asked, still focusing most of her attention on the cat. I gave her the rundown of my morning.

"Have you thought of a name for him?" She asked. Apparently it was a him. Okay then. I stared at her.

"No, because I'm not keeping him. I just need help giving him a bath and finding a no-kill shelter. I figured you'd know some." There was no way the cat was staying. Mindy twisted around and narrowed her eyes at me.

"Watney. The cat chose you. It's fate-give it up. You're his human now." The scary part was, I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. I didn't think she was.

"I've never had a cat. I don't even like cats!" I protested.

"How do you know?" She refuted. "You've never had one."

I didn't have anything to say to that.

"Come on," Mindy ordered, rising from her crouched position after giving the cat one last pat. "We have some supplies to shop for."

* * *

I really shouldn't have been surprised that Mindy had a cat carrier in the trunk of her car.

"Why do you have a cat carrier?" I asked her after she'd run down to get it. "I didn't tell you it was a cat."

"He," she corrected, "and I always carry this. Just in case."

"In case what?"

"In case I find a cat," She rolled her eyes. "Duh." Sometimes I wasn't sure why I bothered opening my mouth. Obviously the ways of cat people were foreign to me. Was I, too, going to start carrying random cat paraphernalia around in my car?

The cat was somewhat reluctant to actually get in the crate, but Mindy finally coaxed it-him! Why was that so hard to remember?-in with a combination of reassurance and a gentle nudge. She latched the door and handed the carrier to me.

"I have to hold it?"

"It's your cat. And besides, I'm driving."

"What, you don't trust my driving?" I snarked.

"I don't trust anyone's driving in D.C. except my own. They're all idiots."

She wasn't wrong. The problem was that she may trust her own driving, but I didn't. The next ten minutes were spent clutching the cat carrier until my knuckles turned white and trying not to scream like a little girl, only more high pitched. Mindy glanced at me while we were stopped at a red light.

"You haven't been here long, obviously." She looked amused. I'm glad the kamikaze driver was amused.

"This is day four," I managed, "and right now I want to run back to Illinois where there are less cars and angry people." The cat meowed from inside the box, like he was agreeing with me. Maybe we'd get along after all.

"You'll get used to it," she said as a car honked immediately after the light turned green. "D.C. is actually kind of nice after you get past the layer of gritty humanity to the creamy urban core."

I eyed her. "That was a really weird cross between travel guide and psycho chocolatier."

"I'm still recovering from a twenty-four hour shift in SatCon. I'm surprised anything I say is making sense."

"Did I wake you up?" I asked, frowning. I was going to feel really guilty if I'd interrupted her sleep schedule for a cat.

"Nah. I try to keep a normal person schedule on my days off. Napped this morning, sleep tonight."

"How's the job going?" I felt like I should ask, as I'd personally screwed up her life for a while.

"Fine," she said, "now that I no longer have to monitor your every move. Although you still keep popping up."

"Talent of mine."

Then we were almost sideswiped by a bus and I tried to become one with the seat again as Mindy yelled obscenities at the driver.

* * *

I just about dropped down and kissed the ground when we got to Petsmart. Mindy rolled her eyes when I fell out of the car.

"You've been on spaceships that go way faster and are more dangerous than a ride through D.C. Stop being a baby."

"At least going to Mars if I'd have died it would have been meaningful. There's nothing meaningful about expiring in a fiery explosion in front of the subway entrance." I pulled myself up and headed towards the store.

"Mark."

"What?" I turned. She was still standing by the car.

"You forgot the cat."

"Oh. Right."

"Also, put this on." She threw something at me, and I managed to catch it awkwardly with one hand. It was a knit grey beanie. I frowned.

"Why do I need to wear this?"

"It's a disguise, Mr. Recognizable." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "You want people staring at the puppies or you?"

"Point." I pulled the hat on. It was cold enough that it wasn't annoying.

The inside of the store was slightly overwhelming, what with the people and the bright colors and the screeching birds. Mindy pulled me past the furry animals in small glass cages and the wire ones full of parakeets and other assorted small birds. We ended up in a section labeled "Cats" in a colorful banner.

"What do cats even need?" I wondered out loud.

"Litter box, litter, food, bowls, shampoo, collar, cat toys," Mindy listed off rapid fire. She'd grabbed one of those short, two-level carts that were much easier to maneuver. The first aisle had litter and stuff. I eyed the shelves full of different types and brands with trepidation.

"Why are there so many? All they do is poop in it." This was going to be more complicated than I had thought. Mindy snorted.

"You really are kind of clueless. Don't look so freaked out, I got this." She grabbed a bag from one of the shelves. "This is the one I prefer. Keeps the smell down."

"Hallelujah," I said, deadpan. Next into the cart went a scooper and a box.

The food aisle was just as ridiculous. Mindy stacked some cans of wet food and a small bag of dry mix in the cart, explaining that it was best to give a cat one in the morning and the other at night. I tried to listen, but most of it went over my head. Maybe I could have her write down instructions. She was obviously in her element picking out things for my cat.

We walked down the aisle with collars.

"Why do they have leashes for cats?" I asked. "Who walks their cat?"

"You'd be surprised, she said, "but I don't think you need to worry about that. We just need a collar. What color do you want?"

I was beginning to feel like one of those little dogs whose eyes bug out of their heads. Not the most flattering comparison, but probably accurate. "You pick."

Mindy pulled an orange nylon collar off the rack. "How about this one?" She dangled it in front of the cat carrier, which I was still carrying. A small grey paw darted out of the bars and swiped at it.

"That looks like approval to me," I said. So it was decided. We gathered the rest of what we needed and made our way to the checkout. The cashier, a cheerful blonde who couldn't have been more than seventeen, proclaimed that the cat was the most adorable thing she'd seen all day.

"He'll look so cute in your guy's Christmas cards!" She said while scanning our items. There was a beat when both of us were confused. Then Mindy started snickering.

"Um, actually he's my cat," I told the cashier. She nodded sagely.

"I'm sure he'll warm up to you eventually," she told Mindy. "My cat didn't like my boyfriend at first, but after a couple weeks they became best friends."

I stared at the conveyer belt, willing it to move faster. It didn't. I was never going to live this down. Mindy seemed to think it was hilarious. She even asked about the cashier's cat versus the boyfriend.

Finally we escaped. Mindy was still snickering as we walked outside.

"I'm glad you think that was funny."

"Lighten up. It _is_ funny."

"And you're loopy from sleep deprivation," I accused. She laughed again, pushing her hair out of her face.

"That just makes it even funnier," she said. "But that's nothing to what's next."

I had a bad feeling about this.

"What do you mean?" I asked warily. She gave me an evil grin while putting the car in gear.

"You get to bathe the cat."

Oh boy.


	8. Chapter 8

**The cat gets a name! Thank you to everyone who contributed a suggestion for names-I considered them all, but I felt like this one fit well. It also kind of seemed like fate to me after what I heard on the news today, that David Bowie died. I love hearing from you all! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.**

* * *

I let the cat out of the bag as soon as the door to my apartment was shut behind us. Box. Whatever. The cat walked to the middle of the floor and shook himself vigorously. So much for gratitude. Mindy was bustling around in my half-kitchen, moving the coffee cup out of the sink and moving the toaster away.

"We're going to need a couple of towels, Mark," she said, unplugging my coffee pot.

"I thought you gave cats baths in bathtubs?" I asked, moving to get the towels anyway. I was rapidly learning that it was a waste of time to argue with her. I'd had an easier time convincing Lewis of anything than getting Mindy Park to change her mind.

"Sure, if you have a death wish," she called, her voice drifting into the bedroom where I kept my linens-a.k.a. the pile of clean towels and washcloths that I hadn't gotten around to folding. I grabbed a couple off the top.

Mindy took one of them from me when I walked back into the main room. "You bathe big dogs in a tub. Little dogs and cats go into the sink so that you can reach them and it's harder for them to escape." She spread the towel on the counter beside the sink and stepped back to admire her work. The cat shampoo stood ready on the other side. "And as amusing as it would be to see you fall into the tub, that would be traumatizing to the cat."

"The cat? What about me?" I complained. She snorted.

"You're fine."

And there was one of the main reasons that I liked Mindy. She didn't try to coddle me. To her, I was just some idiot who got stuck on Mars and managed not to die. I could deal with that.

"Now," she said, "comes the fun part."

"What's that?" I asked. I had a feeling that _fun_ did not actually mean fun, in this case.

She grinned. "We have to catch the cat."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I was sweating and Mindy was still swearing under her breath, but we had the-very grumpy-cat wrapped up in the other towel.

"Why was that so hard?" I asked, trying to hold on to the wriggling bundle. He was making angry meowing noises, but so far that was all.

"Cats just know," was all she said. I was beginning to believe that cats were magic. Or demons. They just weren't natural.

Mindy started running the water in the right sink. She passed her hand under the stream and adjusted the temperature. Then she did it like three more times.

"Where are your cups?" she asked.

"Cabinet by your head." She grabbed a plastic cup with Iron Man on it.

"It was a gift from Martinez," I said defensively. Mindy raised one eyebrow.

"Did I say something?"

"You were thinking it," I muttered. The cat meowed in agreement. Or annoyance at still being wrapped in a towel. Could have been either, I guess. I preferred to think that he was taking my side.

"The superheroes on your cups are your business," she said serenely, "Although Batman is way better."

I stared at her. "I'm not going to justify that with a response." Batman better than Iron Man? No way. That did it-she was crazy.

"Put the cat in the sink, Watney."

"Whatever, Park."

I put the cat in the sink. He looked around warily. So far, so good. Of course, that was when Mindy poured a cup of water over his back.

"Hold him!" She hissed, refilling the cup. "We have to get him wet before I can add shampoo!"

The cat wasn't taking it as badly as I thought he would, but he was still Not Happy. Emphasis on Not. Somehow, while trying to climb out of the sink, his claws ended up in my forearm.

"Ow ow ow." I wasn't squealing. At all. "I'm going to die of rabies!" Mindy started rubbing the shampoo into a lather. It smelled like flowers.

"Pull yourself together, the cat doesn't have rabies," she said. The cat just yowled. Repeatedly. He looked like a drowned, desperate rat, and he was trying to climb me like I was a tree.

"Hurry up!" I yelled.

"I'm going!"

Several excruciating minutes later, all of the soap had been rinsed and I was trying to dry the cat with the other towel. That was when there was a knock on my door.

"You expecting company?" Mindy asked me.

"No," I said, frowning. I didn't think I'd forgotten anything. She went to open the door.

There, darkening my doorway, was my crew, minus Vogel, who I knew to be in Russia.

"Oh," I said, "hey guys."

"Mark," said Lewis, "we were in the neighborhood and thought we'd drop by to see how you were settling in. If it's a bad time…?" In other words, they were checking up on me. I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. Besides, I could understand her hesitation. I was probably an interesting sight, since I was almost as wet as the cat.

"Nah, it's fine. But hurry up and shut the door so this thing doesn't escape."

"Is that a cat?" Martinez asked, breaking the awkwardness a little by stepping into the room to inspect the damp bundle of cat I was holding. "Hi, Mindy," he added. The rest of the crew added a chorus of greetings.

"Hi," Mindy said.

"Um...yes. I believe it is a cat," I told Martinez. Said cat poked his head out of the towels to yowl pitifully at him. Both of them looked skeptical.

"Is it _your_ cat?" Johansson asked.

"Yes, it is his cat," interjected Mindy, glaring at me like she was daring me to contradict her. I sighed. Fine. It was my cat. The least she could do was dry him. I handed the cat off to her and went to plug my coffee pot back in.

"You guys want coffee?" I asked. I shouldn't have bothered. Astronauts always wanted coffee. "Find a seat wherever, sorry about the lack of furniture."

"I am completely offended that you don't have a chair with my name on it," Martinez declared. I rolled my eyes at him.

"So sorry, your majesty." I spooned several tablespoons of ground coffee into the filter and flicked it on. "I'll be right back, I need to find dry clothing. Cats don't like baths."

"No kidding," I heard Johansson mutter.

* * *

After I finally found a clean shirt-I really needed to do laundry, ok?-and returned to the living room, Mindy was just about through telling the story of the cat.

"So what's his name?" Beck asked.

"Um," I said eloquently.

"The cat's name is Um?" Martinez snorted.

"You haven't named him," Johansson exclaimed in disbelief. Lewis shook her head. I was feeling a little ganged up on.

"I haven't really had time to think about it," I defended myself.

"Well, now you do." said Martinez. "What about Rover?" I stared at him.

"Martinez. Rover is a dog name."

"No it's not," he argued "Rover is a very species neutral name. And besides! You owe a lot to rovers!"

"No." I was not naming the cat Rover, no matter how species neutral it was. I couldn't let Martinez have the satisfaction of knowing that it was a pretty decent name suggestion.

"What about Hermes?" Johansson chimed in.

"Or J'onn J'onzz?" added Beck. It was their turn to get the Watney glare.

"Ok, one" I pointed at Johansson, "no. Two," I pointed at Beck, "did you just make a Martian Manhunter reference? What is wrong with you people! Marvel, not DC!"

Beside me, Mindy snorted. Beck just looked vaguely confused.

"What's wrong with DC?" he asked.

"Nevermind."

"How about Whiskers?" said Lewis. There was dead silence for about ten seconds.

"Respectfully, Commander Lewis," Mindy said, "you're not allowed to name pets. Ever."

"It wasn't that bad," Lewis muttered.

"Yes it was," I told her.

"Well, what about you, Watney?" Martinez said, "You can't expect us to do everything. Pick a name already."

I stared at the cat, who was licking his fur dry on the floor beside me.

"He's taking this really seriously," Johansson whispered to Beck. I made a face at her.

"Major Tom. The cat's name is Major Tom."

Mindy started cracking up. I looked at her, giving her my best hurt expression. That only made it worse. Martinez, Johansson, and Beck were all snickering. Even Lewis cracked a smile.

"What?" I demanded.

"Watney," Lewis said, "That's dangerously close to a disco name."

"It's rock," I said mutinously.

Mindy, who was on the floor by now, laughed harder.


	9. Chapter 9

**Yesterday was spent getting ready to start back at work and class, so I guess it's Martian Tuesday this week. I came up with this idea on the fly, so let me know how you like it. Also, send suggestions for scenarios for Mark to get in!**

* * *

"I am so over this," I declared.

"We aren't even in the building yet," Lewis sighed. She had a point. I decided to ignore said point.

"Over it," I reiterated. Not only was I being dragged to a fancy schmancy gala that NASA was throwing as a fundraiser for the remaining Ares missions, but I had also been ordered to wear a tux. I did not feel like James Bond. I felt like I was slowly being strangled to death by a scratchy velcro noose. I tugged at the collar of my tux again.

"Stop whining," Johansson told me. "There's going to be alcohol." I eyed her warily.

"Yeah, but there will also be _people_. Lots of them. Important ones, even. Nosy people."

"Don't worry, damsel in distress, we'll protect you," said Martinez, the jerk. The problem was I was hoping that he was right and the crew would provide at least a little buffer. Annie had said that the event had been sold out not even four days after it was announced. I would bet my bottom dollar that at least half of the attendees would be there solely to try to mob me, which sounds really narcissistic, but it's true. I would gladly go back to nobody knowing who I was.

At least I wasn't actually overdressed. The tux was almost like camouflage tonight, since all the men were wearing them with very little variation. The ladies were a bit easier to tell apart. Johannson was wearing a long black dress with lace sleeves, and Lewis had on a green strapless dress that looked nice with her hair. I had no idea how she drove wearing it, but she had picked us all up in her mom-van and gotten us here (although at a more sedate pace than Mindy would have driven, thank god).

Vogel was waiting for us in the lobby. He was also dressed in a tux. Surprising, I know.

"It is good to see you," he said, accent thicker than ever.

"Vogel!" Martinez exclaimed. "Good to see you, man. How's the family?"

"They are all well," Vogel said, nodding gravely. "And yours?"

"They're doing great. Watney got a cat." I elbowed him in the ribs as Vogel turned to me with one eyebrow raised.

"A cat?"

"You couldn't tell from the cat hair I'm covered in?" I deadpanned. Actually, I was reasonably sure I had gotten most of it with the lint roller Mindy had thrown at me after the fourteenth time I'd complained about drowning in cat hair. "But I think it was more like the cat wouldn't leave, so now we're roommates."

Vogel looked confused. I didn't blame him.

"I hate to interrupt," a new voice cut in, "but it's about time to start mingling." We all turned to see Teddy Sanders standing there, along with Annie Montrose and Venkat Kapoor. We all exchanged greetings. I still wasn't sure how I felt about Sanders, so I settled for a polite nod.

"Lead the way," Lewis said. Even when we weren't headed into space she still took charge. That's the way we, the crew, preferred it, though. Our training had drilled it into our heads, and she was a natural leader anyway, so it worked.

The ballroom was cavernous, decorated in NASA blue and red. It looked a little weird to me, against the elegant creams and golds of the room, but whatever. I was just here for the finger food. The room was already mostly full of people, but Teddy had taken us in a side entrance, so nobody had really noticed we were there yet.

"Alright," said Lewis, like she was outlining a mission plan, "go forth and mingle. Play nice, don't go into detail about anything if you're not sure what the official story is, and you," she pointed at me, "watch your language."

"Aye-aye, captain," I mock saluted. Martinez snickered. Lewis eyed him momentarily, but then she and Teddy made their way into the room, him introducing her to presumably important people as they went. Beck and Johansson meandered off in another direction. That left Vogel, Martinez, and me.

"Are we using the buddy system?" I wondered out loud.

"Nah," said Martinez, "but good luck prying those two apart." He gestured to where Beck and Johansson were doing a passable job at mingling.

"I will take me leave now," Vogel said, "I wish to find a friend who is supposed to attend."

"Have fun, buddy," I told him. He disappeared into the crowd.

"I'm going to check out the food," Martinez declared. "You wanna come?" I shook my head.

"Maybe later." In all honesty I was feeling more than a little twitchy about being around so many people. Eating probably wasn't a good idea.

"Come on, Mark," said Venkat. I startled a little. I'd kind of forgotten he was there. Whoops. "I'll introduce you to some people you might like."

"Where did Annie go?" I asked as I followed him deeper into the lion's den. "I thought you and her stuck together." He snorted.

"You can't stick to Annie. She doesn't stand still. It would be like trying to catch an eel with your bare hands."

"I'm sure she'd love that comparison." Annie actually impressed me. She did not put up with people's crap, and still managed to make us look good.

"Point. But I know she's not going to hear it, so it doesn't matter." he pinned me with a meaningful look. I raised my hands.

"Don't worry, your insulting comparisons are safe with me." I had other things to worry about. Like the fact that people were beginning to stare at me like I was that person they knew in high school but couldn't quite put a name to. And so it began.

"If you stopped looking like I was dragging you to your execution, you might not attract as much attention," Venkat told me. He was probably right.

"Ugh," I replied.

"Seriously, they aren't going to eat you for dinner. Now look, this is Meredith Heynes. She sponsors special space programs in elementary schools."

And so it went. After Meredith (who was actually a very nice lady in her early sixties with a genuine passion for children) there was a whole parade of people who were invested in NASA for some reason or other. I was never going to remember them all, but I did my best to smile and chitchat. Nobody really brought up Mars, other than oblique comments that I could ignore. Either people had suddenly learned some discretion, or Venkat was doing a very good job of helping me avoid anyone too obnoxious.

Eventually I was allowed to take a breather. Lewis appeared beside me when Venkat went to take care of something.

"You look decidedly not terrified anymore," she commented.

"Venkat is cool. He tells me people's names, which I promptly forget, and then gets them talking about themselves. I need to learn that tactic. Seriously-Annie better watch out or he's going to take her job."

"Venkat likes his own job too much. Besides, he'd have to pry it from her cold, lifeless hands."

"Right. But eels don't have hands." She gave me a puzzled glance.

"Exactly how much of the punch have you had?" She asked.

"Not nearly enough." I'd had a glass at one point, but I had set it down and it had disappeared. "Where's everybody else?"

"Making the rounds. Although I think Martinez has made more rounds of the buffet than anything else." I laughed. That sounded pretty accurate. "And he's telling terrible space jokes. I'd better go stop him."

"People love those jokes," I said, but she was already gone. I snagged a glass of something off a nearby waiter and tasted it. White wine. Good enough, I guess. I was content to mind my own business for a couple minutes.

"Hi there," said a woman.

"Gah," I said, almost dropping my glass. I stubbornly held onto it-I was going to finish this one. Where had she even come from?

The woman laughed. She was slightly shorter than I was, with long brunette ringlets. Her dress was a dark shade of red, and barely covered important areas.

"Hello," I greeted her cautiously. Maybe she wanted to know about the problems of growing plants in a Mars atmosphere.

"I've read _all_ about you in the papers," she purred. Like, literally purred. Major Tom would probably not be happy to know that the song of his people was being misused by this human. "I really want to get to know the man behind the stories."

She was way too close to me. It was making me claustrophobic, and the excess of perfume was stifling. I tried to take a little step away, but she followed me. Where was Venkat? Or Lewis?

"Ah, I'm afraid that there really isn't anything else to tell," I muttered.

"I'm sure there's _plenty_ to find out." Ok, creepy lady, please go away. She looked like she was about to grab my arm when Annie appeared out of thin air.

"Mark, Lewis is looking for you." She slid between the woman and me and pushed me off in another direction. I could hear the disappointed huff behind us, but didn't dare look back.

"You," I said to Annie, "are the best."

"I know." She sniffed disdainfully. "But I could also never live with myself if I let that skank near you." That startled a laugh out of me.

"And Lewis told me to watch _my_ language. Is she actually looking for me?"

"If she's not, she will be soon. It's almost time for the speeches, and your crew needs to stand together. It makes it easier for the photographer."

"You're ruthless, you know that?" She had saved me only to drop me into shark infested waters.

"Yeah. yeah, like I haven't heard worse." We were pretty close to the platform now, and I started to dig in my heels.

"I hope you don't think that I'm going to stand up there."

"You are. It's not a debate. All you have to do is stand there and look pretty, maybe even raise your glass at the right time for the toast, if I'm lucky. Don't argue with me, Watney," she cut me off before I could really begin to properly protest.

The rest of the crew was waiting by the stairs to the stage.

"I want it noted that I protest," I told them, already knowing that I wasn't going to be able to get out of it.

"Noted," Lewis said, "now march."

We filed onto the stage. It wasn't too long before I forgot to be anxious at the amount of people staring and started to struggle with not falling asleep. There were several speeches by various important benefactors and such before they got to Teddy, who, Beck whispered to me, was last. Yay.

His speech wasn't too bad. I mean, it was filled with things like nobility and exploration and duty and stuff, but at least he wasn't monotonous. I wondered how many people in the room knew that he'd vetoed the actual rescue mission. I was betting not many.

Finally it was over. We were able to make our escape pretty quickly, in the confusion of everyone trying to leave all at once. Lewis' mom-van was waiting at the curb, via valet. It wasn't until I'd climbed into the back seat beside Martinez and we started rolling that I realized that I had actually held it together pretty well. Sure, I had a tension headache and my shoulders were stiff from being on high alert for so long, but I'd made it.

"We still have a meeting tomorrow, but it's been pushed back until three," Lewis reminded us.

"Ok, but I have a question," I said.

"What?"

"It's kind of off topic, but I think I speak for us all."

"What, Mark?"

"Seriously, this is for the good of party goers everywhere."

" _Watney."_

"Can I burn this suit?"

"I second that," interjected Martinez.

"Third," Beck chimed in.

"Seriously, guys?" sighed Lewis.

"If they get to burn the tuxes, can I burn these heels? They were only comfortable for the first five minutes." said Johansson.

"No one is burning anything!" Lewis stated, loudly.

I smiled. That's what she thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Look! Ten whole chapters! The response to this story has been really great. Thank you to everyone who supports me-it means so much! Have a nice, fun chapter in honor of the two feet of snow my parents got this weekend.**

* * *

"Come on!" I yelled. "We're going to be late!" I knocked on the door again. On the fifth knock it was pulled open so quickly that I felt the breeze.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Mindy was still dressed in a black t-shirt and fluffy pajama pants with the teenage mutant ninja turtles on them.

"Nice pants. But not really practical, and if you don't get dressed we're going to be late for lunch Venkat and Annie." I rubbed my hands together. It was kind of chilly outside-to put it mildly.

"There's a blizzard, Mark! Why would I want to go outside?!" I rolled my eyes.

"Dramatic, much? It's not even snowing anymore. The skies are clear and the sun is shining, and I already called Venkat and Annie and they're still going. Besides, you need to save your frozen pizza stash for a real emergency. Like a zombie apocalypse."

She threw up her hands. "There's eighteen inches of snow on the ground. And you want to have lunch. Sun shining my ass." She turned on her heel and marched back into the apartment, leaving me to follow. I am a master of diplomacy.

I stood not-at-all-awkwardly in her living room as she dressed. Doors banged. Drawers were shut with more force than necessary. There was a constant stream of expletives, like white noise, coming from the bedroom.

"Don't forget a hat!" I called. I'm pretty sure Mindy actually snarled. She must really hate snow.

Ten minutes after my first knock, she re-appeared fully dressed and ready to go. I would have made some comment about how fast she moved, but I liked my head where it was. We set off. They had already managed to plow the main roads. It had stopped snowing early this morning, which I knew because I was awake at four, and D.C. didn't mess around when it came to snow removal. They had too many people ready and willing to bitch about it otherwise. We took the metro anyway, because Mindy stated in no uncertain terms that she was not walking six miles through a foot and a half of snow. Wimp.

"Why are you so chipper, anyway?" She asked once we were safely ensconced in the train.

"Copious amounts of coffee," I replied sagely. I was probably going to regret it tonight, but this morning it had been necessary for human function. Major Tom had agreed-I'd accidentally stepped on his tail twice, startling us both.

"And you _like_ snow?" She asked suspiciously, like it was unnatural.

"Well, yeah. It's pretty. And fun. If it's winter, it might as well be snowing."

"It's kind of an inconvenience," Mindy pointed out.

"Only if you're in a super big hurry to do adult things."

She harrumphed. Watney: 1, Park: 0.

* * *

Venkat and Annie had already got a table at the little hole-in-the-wall diner that we all preferred. It was modern without feeling impersonal or cold; the decorations were all in warm reds and browns.

"Took you long enough," Annie said. "What, did you fall in a snowdrift?" She took a sip of her customary large black coffee. My caffeine intake was nothing compared to hers. It was impressive and terrifying all at once.

"Give them a break, Annie," Venkat admonished. "The city is still working on getting everything running." It looked like he had opted for tea. The man would outlive us all, if only because he refused to be flustered by our antics.

"Sorry guys," I said, taking off my coat to sit down. "Miss Park mutinied."

"The snow is almost as tall as I am," Mindy grumbled, fumbling with the buttons on her coat.

"That is an exaggeration" I said, shaking a finger at her. She finally managed to get the coat undone.

"Says the reasonably tall person."

The waitress popped by just as we got settled.

"Good morning folks," she chirped, "what can I get you to drink?"

"Good morning, Lucy," I greeted her. We had achieved "regulars" status awhile back. "I'd like coffee."

"Same for me," Mindy chimed in.

"Alrighty then, I'll be right back." Lucy double clicked her pen and walked back towards the kitchen.

"How's the cat, Mark?" Venkat asked. "What's its name again?"

"Major Tom. He seems to be taking to his new role as pharaoh rather well," I said dryly. He had been curled up on my face when I woke up this morning. "Too bad my upstairs neighbors aren't cats. Maybe they would walk quieter then."

"I'm sure your downstairs neighbors are sympathetic," Annie snorted.

"Touche," I told her. "Your eelness."

"Watney, I will bury your body in the snow and no one will find you until spring," Venkat threatened. Someone *ahem* had let slip his comment at the gala to Annie. There had been repercussions.

"That's your _royal_ eelness," Annie said, sniffing delicately. Venkat groaned.

I glanced at Mindy, who was sitting across from me. She was being unusually quiet, but the top of her head was barely visible over the laminated menu, so I assumed she was taking her food choices very seriously.

"Anything catch your eye?" I asked her. She delicately laid the menu down before declaring:

"I want grilled cheese."

"Grilled cheese?"

She narrowed her eyes at me. "I am PMSing and I want grilled cheese."

"Ah." having had first hand experience with Johannson and Lewis on our very long mission, I chose not to question her further.

Lucy came back and took our order. Mindy got her grilled cheese. Annie, as usual, got a salad (even in winter. I didn't understand), Venkat ordered some sort of soup.

"I'd like pancakes," I told Lucy, "with fruit instead of hashbrowns."

"Are you sure?" She asked. "They're fresh." I twitched a little at the thought.

"Very sure." Mindy snorted. I, a mature adult, ignored her. Someday I might eat potatoes again. It was not this day.

The food came and it was delicious. I really enjoyed our weekly lunches. It made me feel like I had a social life. I was still working on that part of things. Soon, though, it was time to go.

"I have to get back to work," Annie declared. She was on her third cup of coffee since I'd seen her.

"It's Saturday," I pointed out.

"And a blizzard," Mindy added.

"The office is closed, but PR stops for nothing," Annie said. I had a feeling that if Satan rose from hell to tell her that her time was up she'd laugh in his face and tell him to submit the press release for review. Or usurp him.

We paid and walked outside. The blue skies were a sharp contrast to the past several days, and the sun was so bright as it reflected off the snow that it made my eyes water. Mindy and I waved good-bye to Venkat and Annie and hailed a taxi, since they were up and running again. I didn't really want to take the metro again when the air was just so crisp.

We both got off at Mindy's apartment. It was only a few blocks from mine, so I planned on just walking the rest of the way home on paths pre-trampled by other humans to stubborn to stay indoors. Mindy was walking ahead of me to the entrance of her building, so I scooped up a handful of snow and patted it into something vaguely sphere-like.

"Hey Mindy!" She turned, and I threw the snowball.

My aim was too good. It hit her right in the face. Oh. _shit._

"Watney." her voice was deceptively calm. I started backing away as she reached up to clear her glasses. "Run."

I obliged. She was faster. Her tackle threw me into a snowdrift and I felt a handful of snow go down the back of my coat while she screeched at me.

Totally worth it to see the look on her face.


	11. Chapter 11

**I was sick pretty much all week last week (the flu, I suspect) so nothing got done. Here's a short little chapter to tide you over until I can get my life back in order. Thanks for being patient!**

* * *

The wind had been howling all day, and it didn't die down after dark. It had taken me pretty much all day to figure out that the damn noise the wind was making was what was making me so twitchy. I'd been "off" since right after I woke up, but attributed it to the lack of sleep caused by my upstairs neighbors. I was really considering leaving a passive aggressive sticky note on their door congratulating them on their new pet elephant.

In any case, I was grumpy. I'd spent the day actively avoiding people as much as possible. I didn't feel like inflicting myself on anyone unnecessarily. In some cases it was inevitable-there was a meeting with Annie about another upcoming press release-but she seemed to understand that I wasn't in the mood to chit chat. It was over fairly quickly.

Finally, after puttering around my apartment for a couple of hours doing menial household work (God I hate folding laundry. It's just so irritating. Washing, drying-fine. But folding? Bah.) and the city started quieting down somewhat, at least for D.C., I realized it was the wind.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. I thought back through my day, realizing that the low-pitched howling and the whistling and groaning gusts had been present all day.

It was too much like Mars. Where I was almost killed by a windstorm.

I harrumphed. It was ridiculous and dumb, but after everything the sound of the wind tearing around outside put me on edge. Logically, I knew that if I stepped outside or opened a window the worst I was get was an interesting hairdo. It was just a cold(er) front moving in. Definitely not certain death. But after so long with the wind as a threat, I couldn't relax.

I hunted the remote out from between the couch cushions and clicked the tv on. I'd left it on the news this morning, but I didn't want to watch that. I flipped through the channels quickly, as soon as I could tell what show was on I clicked the next button. I wasn't really looking for anything. Just background noise. There was a documentary about the Amazon River on one channel, and I left it on that. The slow, modulated, British-accented voice talking about piranhas was oddly soothing.

* * *

I woke up in a cold sweat, breathless, from a dream about the Martian winds tearing apart the Hab. And me without my space suit. I was still on the couch, the tv still on, only now it was some program with lions. I sat up and rubbed at my face. The numbers on my watch blinked two a.m. at me. Awesome. It was cold, too. I didn't mind it cool when I was sleeping, but that was usually beneath a comforter and sheets in my bed, not in a t-shirt and sweatpants on the couch.

At the same time, I didn't feel like moving. It's not like I'd be getting any more sleep tonight anyway, not with the wind still howling outside. My pulse was still throbbing from the dream.

The cat almost gave me a heart attack when he jumped onto my legs.

"Holy-" I startled, almost dislodging him. "For fucks sake, Tom, you can't just go around scaring people like that. Mindy would never forgive me if I accidentally kicked you across the room."

Major Tom meowed at me, unimpressed, and crawled his way up my legs to my lap.

"Watch the paws," I told him, "we're not that close yet." He curled up, purring contentedly as I stroked his back. A couple of baths, some flea treatment, and loads of brushing had revealed him to be a reasonably fluffy charcoal grey. I could feel my heartbeat slowing down as he continued to purr. The added warmth didn't hurt either-I swear, he's like a miniature heater. It's like he soaks up the sun all day and radiates it.

"How do you feel about lions?" I asked him. He opened one eye to a slit and mrrowed at me. "Okay then."

* * *

I woke up to someone sanding my face with fine grit sandpaper. Oh, wait. That was just Major Tom licking my face.

"Gah," I said, trying to push him off my chest. "Cut it out, Tom."

"Meow."

"Yeah, whatever." He wanted his wet food. The smell of it made me want to barf, but he didn't seem to mind. As long as he didn't try to lick me _after_ eating it. Then I really would throw up.

It was six-thirty, but that was honestly longer than I had expected to sleep, so it was what it was. The mound of purring cat that had slept on me all night had probably contributed to the extra hours. Besides being a portable furnace, he also doubled as a great white noise machine.

I got the cat his dang wet food. The flavor of the day was chicken and gravy, but I seriously questioned that designation. It didn't look or smell anything like chicken. Tom was gobbling it up like he hadn't eaten in days (which was not true at all) when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered it.

"Hey Mark, sorry about the early call. I just wanted to reach you before my morning meeting." It was Lewis.

"It's alright, I was up." Barely, but true enough. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, really. I just hadn't talked to you this week and wanted to check in."

It was Monday. The week was young. I could read the subtext: _Annie called me and said you were acting weird yesterday, so I wanted to make sure you were ok_.

"It's been a pretty slow week. Haven't been getting a ton of sleep. I should probably apologize to Annie for being cranky yesterday." _Message received, Commander. Stand by, pulling myself together in progress._

"You know, Beck could probably give you something for that." She was using her motherly voice.

"We've discussed it. But it's actually gotten a little better, recently." Mostly due to Major Tom curling up next to me at night. No way I was going to tell Lewis that kitty cuddles was curing my insomnia, though.

"Well, as long as you know we're here for you if you need us."

"Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it." More than I could say.

"All right. I'm at NASA, so I have to go. But I'll talk to you soon."

"Sounds good. Have fun with really long staff meetings."

"Hah," Lewis fake laughed. "Thanks." She hung up the phone.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter. The sky had just started to change from inky black to the color of Tom's fur, but it was quiet. The wind had dissipated.

"Well, Tom," I addressed my cat, "time to get busy."

He ignored me in favor of licking his chicken-and-gravy flavored paws.


	12. Chapter 12

**So, in honor of Valentine's Day (also my birthday!) have a cute little chapter. Nothing crazy. Just kind of adorable.**

* * *

"Bring me ice cream."

"Excuse me?" I knew it was Mindy, since caller ID was a thing, but I was still thrown off by her abrupt request.

"Ice. Cream. Moosetracks."

"It's February and, like, twenty-eight degrees outside. Also, why do you sound weird?" Her voice was kind of muffled.

"I'm sick. And I want ice cream. But I don't want to go out to get it. That would involve putting on real clothes."

I sighed. She really did sound kind of pathetic, and I still owed her for helping me with Major Tom when he first appeared. Plus, I had a feeling that if the situation was reversed and I called her up while sick and demanded unreasonable, season-inappropriate food items, she would bring them to me.

"Fine. Moose tracks?"

"And mint chocolate chip." I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, your highness."

* * *

Twenty minutes later I was standing at the door to Mindy's apartment with two tubs of ice cream and a pizza. She answered my knock in record time.

"Were you waiting by the door?" I asked, shuffling into the apartment.

"Of course not." She wasn't very convincing, but she looked so pitiful in her Grateful Dead t-shirt and flannel pajama pants (and puffy eyes and red nose) that I decided not to call her on it. I handed her the bag with the ice cream; she took it almost reverently.

"What's with the pizza?" She asked, pulling a bowl down out of a cabinet.

"I was hungry, and man cannot live on ice cream alone." I set it on the counter so that I could look for a plate. Everything in Mindy's cabinets was organized neatly. She even had matching dishes. It made me feel like less of an adult.

"Well woman can," she muttered, scooping a generous helping of moose tracks into a bowl. I left her to it and transferred a piece of my pizza to a square white plate with a geometric design.

"Why are your dishes square?" I asked her. It seemed unnatural.

"They fit in corners better. Wastes less space. Why is there pinapple on your pizza?"

"Because I like it."

"What a great comeback, Watney. I'm floored by your grasp of debate." I snorted at her, my mouth full of pizza. She moved to the small living room and I trailed her. Netflix was up on the tv, a room full of people, apparently arguing, on the screen.

"Whatcha watching?" I asked. I didn't know much about her television habits.

"The first Alien movie, with Sigourney Weaver. It's a classic."

I gave her a look.

"You work with a bunch of astronauts and you like to watch movies about people on spaceships being eaten by aliens? Seriously?"

"Says the man who rewatches Stargate continuously." She waved her spoon at me imperiously. "Even if they start out on earth, they travel to other planets. And get beaten up by aliens, like, constantly."

"Yeah, but…" she had a point. "they usually don't die horrifically?"

"Daniel. Jackson."

"Okay, fine. But he does come back to life. Several times."

"Still counts."

I glared at her. "Aren't you too sick to be arguing?"

"No." Her ice cream was gone, bowl abandoned on the coffee table. She had produced a blanket from somewhere and was struggling to unfold the ginormous, fluffy green thing. I stood up and helped, like the kind soul I am. I also made sure that some of the blanket was on my side of the couch.

"You trying to steal my blanket, Watney?"

"Obviously, Park. Famous astronauts get cold, too."

"Okay, one," her head popped up, "don't make me barf on you. Two, you're going to get sick if you share my blanket."

"Mindy," I said, resigned, "it's cold and flu season and my immune system is still so screwed up that it makes the Kardashians look like a functional family. It's inevitable."

"Oh. Right."

We settled down, co-habiting the blanket, to watch the rest of _Alien_. Ripley was badass, but the rest of her crew was pretty stupid. It made me happy that I was part of a good crew.

"What do you think would happen if Ares III had one of those aliens on our ship?"

"Lewis would be Ripley, and you'd be the first to die."

"Wow, rude." I threw a decorative pillow at her.

"You know I'm right. Luckily for you no face-hugging aliens are interested in sucking your brains out." She threw the pillow back, but her aim was better than mine. It hit me square in the face. I sputtered indignantly, as was my right.

The movie ended. Mindy had fallen asleep on her end of the couch, so I carefully extricated myself from the blanket and made sure all perishable food items were put in their proper places and stacked the dishes in the sink.

She looked semi-comfortable, so I decided to leave her be. It took some quiet scrounging around in her kitchen drawers, but I finally found a pen and a pad of bright green post-it notes. I wrote her a message and left it on the coffee table where she would hopefully see it:

 _Mindy-_

 _I don't know why you feel the need to eat ice cream in February, but whatever. The movie wasn't as lame as I remembered. Hope you feel better. If I die of your germs I'll haunt you for all eternity._

 _Mark_

* * *

The next day Martinez had called me up to chatter at me over the phone. I wasn't really paying attention-my mom had sent me a thousand piece puzzle, and it was driving me crazy. Major Tom kept batting at the pieces, and that didn't help either.

"Yo, Watney, are you even paying attention?" Martinez asked over the phone. He was on speaker, because I needed both hands for the stupid puzzle.

"Of course I am," I said while trying to fit two pieces that obviously did not fit together.

"What did I just say, then?"

"You were talking about your lovely wife, of course." It was a pretty good bet. He talked about her a lot. Not that I blamed him-she was beautiful and smart and sassy. I had no idea how he'd been able to woo her.

"Ok, guess you were listening. So what did you do for Valentine's Day?"

I dropped my puzzle pieces. "Wait, I thought that was next weekend."

"No, dude, it was yesterday. Don't you own a calendar?"

"Probably. Somewhere." I muttered.

"So did you do anything?"

"Um. not really. Just watched a movie and stuff."

"Laaaaame. Should've hit up the speed dating," he jeered. I snorted.

"Yeah, that would have gone well."

"So you-" there was a crash at the other end of the line. "Oh shit, gotta go, the kid woke up from naptime."

The line clicked and went dead. I stared at my puzzle. Valentine's Day, huh? Guess it hadn't been so bad.

* * *

 **Please send me prompts! I'm running out of situations to put Mark in. Note that I will only write canon relationships, except for Mark and Mindy (but Andy Weir said if he ever wrote a sequel they would end up together, so that's pretty much canon for me). Otherwise, go wild!**


	13. Chapter 13

**I've been overwhelmed by how great you guys are and the response to the last chapter. It's taken a bit longer for this one, but it is also longer than any of the other chapters. Thanks to Palindromical for the idea for this one! I tweaked it a bit, but I think it turned out well! Keep sending me prompts, guys-they're all great!**

* * *

"Yeah, ok Mark, so this wasn't the greatest idea ever," I chided myself. Understatement of the century. Maybe just the month.

I was currently seated on a large rock at the bottom of a steep hill beside a waterfall in the Shenandoah National Park. That was fine. Except I'd just slipped in the thawed mud and fallen down said hill and twisted my ankle pretty badly. Beck was going to kill me. But only if Lewis didn't get to me first.

The real problem was that I was at the bottom of a very steep trail with a twisted ankle with no cell service. And no one knew where I was.

"This is what you get for wanting some god damn peace and quiet," I muttered, testing my ankle. Nope. Still twisted. I'd have to try to splint it-I didn't think it was broken, but it never hurt to be sure-and make my way back up the really long, steep hill. Luckily, there was an abundance of sticks laying around, since I was in a forest. I also wasn't completely unprepared. I'd brought a light backpack with snacks, water bottles, and duct tape.

Duct tape, my lord and savior. I carried some everywhere now. I had stashes. It was probably psychotic, but hey, now it was saving my butt for like the millionth time.

I found some fairly straight sticks that would work and taped them to my boot and stood. It still throbbed painfully, and standing on it wasn't going to help with the swelling, but I didn't really have a choice. I didn't make it all the way back from Mars to die of hypothermia because I decided to go hiking in early March.

I began making my way back up the hill, about as fast as a herd of turtles stampeding through molasses. It was around two in the afternoon now, and it had taken me about three hours to get to the bottom, but I'd been going downhill and uninjured. I was guessing it would take five hours to get back to the top of the trail. Maybe a nice park ranger would happen by and give me a lift. There weren't many people out this early in the year, but I hadn't stopped in at the visitor's center, so they might not even know where I was. The ranger at the front gate had seen me, obviously, but who knew if she remembered?

For now, I was on my own. And wasn't it ironic that that'd been exactly what I wanted.

* * *

Two hours later and I was becoming seriously thankful that NASA gave their astronauts nice gear. I was wearing a thermal coat they'd designed, and it was definitely keeping my core warm. Too bad I didn't have any gloves with me. My hands were being scraped raw from pulling myself up over huge rocks and hanging onto trees to keep from slipping. It was time for a rest.

The huge ass rocks, a pain to climb up, made great seats for tired ex-astronauts. My ankle was throbbing more than ever, but there wasn't a whole lot I could do about that, besides reinforce the duct tape. I surveyed the scene.

I couldn't see much looking up the trail, because of the hill, but I could see a fair ways down it. I'd come pretty far since my mishap. Maybe I could downgrade my climbing estimate to four hours. The trees were still bare, since it was still technically winter, but some of the underbrush had leaves. A stream ran beside the trail pretty much the whole way down to the most impressive waterfall, but there were smaller water features on the way. All I could hear besides my own harsh breathing was branches and leaves rustling together, a few early birds, and the dull rush of the water bouncing over the hillside.

This was what I'd been looking for, originally. I'd needed some time away from everything. Plus, there had been some sort of convention going on this weekend and the city was even more full than usual, if that was even possible. It was suffocating, and I'd been feeling smothered. SO I thought, hey, why not just take a hike?

It's only a couple of hours from D.C. to Shenandoah National Forest. So I just got in my car and drove. The problem was that cell coverage in the park was practically nonexistent, and I'd forgotten to contact anyone before I lost it. I'd thought I would be back before anyone even noticed I was gone.

Welp. Not now. Lewis' network of informants (coughthecrewcoughMindycoughmyparentscoughallofNASAcough) was going to let on that they didn't know where I was either. And then I was pretty sure several people would be upset. So break over, back to walking up the freaking mountain with one good leg, Mark.

Such a fun day.

* * *

The trail head was finally in sight. At least, I was pretty sure that it was. The sun had set about half an hour ago and my flashlight was shitty. It had also gotten a lot colder, once the light started to fade, and I was no longer warm.

It _was_ the trail head. I leaned against a sturdy looking tree and tried to catch my breath, but it had run off along with my energy. I was exhausted and in pain. And hangry. All I'd brought was some energy bars, and they were long gone.

A few more yards and I was at the main road that ran through the park. I limped across it and to the parking lot on the other side. It wasn't visible from the road, since there was a hill in front of it. My car was still there-maybe the park rangers just hadn't spotted it.

I started the car. And the heater. The one thing going for me today was that I'd twisted my left ankle, so driving was still possible. I pulled out of the parking lot and started to carefully make my way down the mountain. It was full dark now, and there were no lights except my own headlights. I didn't want to hit a deer on top of everything.

I'd probably been driving ten minutes when I saw a set of headlights coming towards me up the road. Please be a ranger, please be a ra-

It was a ranger. I stopped in the road and he pulled parallel, so our windows were in the same spot. He had a flashlight pointed at me, the bright light making me blink.

"Sir, the park is closed. What are you still doing here?" He was probably in his sixties, with silvery grey hair, but I had a feeling he could still kick some ass if he needed to. His voice was deep and no nonsense.

"I was hiking and I fell and twisted my ankle. It took me a lot longer to get back up the trail," I told him. As embarrassing as it was, it was true. There was a pause as he considered.

"Why don't you pull over to the side and let me take a look," he directed. I did as he asked and he circled and pulled up beside me on the road, our vehicles facing the same direction. I tried to get out and almost fell on my face. My ankle had stiffened after I stopped walking, and now it hurt like a mother fucker. The ranger-the name tag I glimpsed in the light from his flashlight said Cordell-apparently decided that he believed me, because he helped me over to sit on the low stone retaining wall to look at my ankle. Maybe near face-plants couldn't be faked.

"Nice job with the splint," he commented, "but I'm going to have to cut it off to see what we've got."

"Go for it," I told him. "I don't plan on walking anywhere else today." He snorted a little, and I decided I liked him.

"What's your name, son?" he asked as he used a pocket knife to cut through the layers of duct tape.

"Mark," I told him.

"Well, Mark," he said as he examined my now exposed leg, "looks like you fractured your ankle."

I stared at him. "Are you serious?" It didn't hurt _that_ bad.

"As a heart attack," Cordell declared. "It seems to be just a hairline fracture, but I'm not a doctor. We should probably get you to one of those."

Shit. "Can't I just go home and go see a doctor tomorrow?"

He squinted up at me, like he was trying to decide if I was an idiot or not. "You need to get it set tonight. I'll have a ranger come and drive your vehicle to the visitor's center, and you can get somebody to come pick it up later. Come on," he stood up and dusted off his knees, "let's get moving. The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away from the park."

He helped me grab everything important from my car and transfer it to his SUV, and we headed down the mountain after he radioed another ranger.

"I'm Leonard, by the way," he told me. "Leonard Cordell."

"Nice to meet you, Leonard," I said. "Mark Watney." He kind of quirked an eyebrow at me, but otherwise didn't react. Another point in the "this guy is cool" book for him.

"So what were you doing out here, anyway, Mark? It's not quite hiking season, by most people's standards."

"I just needed to get out for a little bit. I live in D.C. and it's too crowded. Obviously that backfired."

"Just a bit," he commented wryly.

We chatted some more about the park and stuff, but at some point I must have drifted off. The next thing I knew, Cordell was shaking me awake.

"I figure since you made it this far, you can hobble into the ER with my help. Unless you really want a gurney."

"Hell no. Hobbling it is," I mumbled, trying to extricate myself from the seat belt. I didn't want to draw anymore attention to myself than I was already about to.

We made our way from the parking lot to the ER. It took a long time, and basically consisted of me hopping along trying not to put any weight on my left ankle and Cordell trying to keep my from face planting. Once inside, the receptionist gave me a once over, trying to figure out if I was in need of immediate care.

"Hiking accident," Cordell told her, "possible fractured ankle."

She nodded, businesslike. "Please take a seat in those chairs. I'll bring you some forms to fill out."

"Hey, Cordell, do you have a phone I can use? I really need to get in contact with some people," I asked the ranger as we dropped into the blue plastic chairs. I was already uncomfortable in them. He pulled out an old model flip phone from his jacket pocket and handed it to me without a word.

"Thanks." I had to call Lewis. And my parents. They were probably worried. Lewis first, though. I dialled. It only took her one ring to pick up, even though it must have been an unfamiliar number.

"Hello?" Her voice was curt.

"Lewis? It's Mark." There was a pause.

" _Where the hell are you, Watney?_ "

"Um." I turned to Cordell. "Where are we?" He gave me the name of the hospital and I repeated it to Lewis.

" _Why_ are you in a hospital? Almost two hours away? What happened?" I winced. The controlled rage in her voice was palpable.

"I was hiking, and I, uh, kind of fell. So it took awhile to get back to my car. I found a very nice park ranger though. Or he found me. He thinks I fractured my ankle, so he drove me to the hospital." I was babbling. I do that when danger is imminent-in this case, Lewis.

"Who's phone is this?" she asked.

"The ranger's."

"I have to go inform NASA that you are, in fact, alive. You are not to leave that hospital until I get there. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am." No back talking Lewis when she was about to hulk out.

" _Stay there,_ Watney. I mean it." The line went dead. I took a deep breath. Hoo boy. This was not going to be fun.

"Sounds like somebody was pretty worried about you," remarked Cordell. I glanced at him. He had his arms crossed and was leaned back in the plastic chair like it was the most comfortable thing in the world. At least someone was relaxed.

"Yeah, I guess so. I think I kind of screwed up." I really hadn't meant to disappear for almost twelve hours. It just kind of happened. Still, I should have been more careful.

"Everybody does sometimes," the ranger observes, "but you're going to make it up to them."

"Yeah."

* * *

Luckily for me, the ER wasn't super busy. I was able to see a doctor quickly, and he went about examining, x-raying, and casting my foot efficiently. I was sitting on an exam table waiting for the cast to finish drying when the door to the room opened.

It was Lewis. She was dressed casually in jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a tail. She also looked pissed as hell. I glanced at the clock on the wall-she'd made the two and a half hour drive in around an hour and fifteen minutes. There was silence for a long moment as she looked me over, but then her shoulders un-tensed a little and she stepped forward into the room.

"Are you alright?" Lewis asked, crisply.

"I'll be fine," I told her. Nothing a good meal and a bunch of food wouldn't fix.

She nodded. "I talked to your doctor. He said that it's a minor fracture, and you can get the cast off in about three weeks."

"Cool. Can we go now?"

"I'll ask." She slipped back out of the room. I tried not to fall asleep while she was gone, but I was exhausted. The door opening startled me out of a light doze. This time Lewis had brought my doctor and a pair of crutches with her. He stepped over and examined my cast.

"Looks like you're good to go. You can get it off in three weeks, but that can be done by your general practitioner. Use the crutches until then."

"Thanks," I told him. He disappeared back out the door. I guess he had things to do.

Lewis helped me adjust the crutches to the right height and walked slowly beside me as we made our way back to the waiting room in silence.

Martinez, Beck, and Johansson were there. I was kind of surprised, but then I realized that there wasn't any reason to be. They were my crew. I'd be there if one of them had disappeared and reappeared in a hospital, no matter how many reassurances were given. Vogel had an excuse-he wasn't even in the country.

"Hey guys," I said. Lame, Watney.

"Mark," Martinez said, "what the fuck, man?"

"Sorry."

"What were you thinking?" Johansson chimed in.

"I'm sorry."

"He wasn't thinking," muttered Lewis.

"Guys," I said, a little louder. They stared at me. "I'm sorry." A pause. Then-

"You're a mess," Beck declared. I glanced down and realized he was right. I was covered in mud and small scratches from my tumble down the hill, I had more bruises than I could count, and my foot was entombed in a navy blue cast.

"I'd say you're right about that." Cordell had wandered over to our little group.

"This is the park ranger that saved my bacon. Leonard Cordell, I'd like you to meet Melissa Lewis, Rick Martinez, Beth Johansson, and Chris Beck." I gestured to each member of the crew as I said their name.

"Pleasure to meet you," Cordell said. "I have to be going now, but I wanted to make sure Mark got off alright."

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "I really appreciate everything you've done."

"Yes," Lewis chimed in, "we do."

I could've swore that Cordell looked a little bashful. "Just doing my job. you all drive safe, now." He made his exit.

"Can we go home now?" I asked.

"Yeah, Mark," Martinez said, "Let's go home."


	14. Chapter 14

**So, as a thank you for the wonderful responses that I've received on this story, have a second chapter for this week! Jelsemium mentioned that it would be nice to see things from someone else's POV. So I did several. Have the other side of Mark's hiking mishap!**

* * *

Annie Montrose tapped her finger impatiently on her desk. She needed Mark to sign some forms regarding the newest media release, but he was taking forever to pick up his phone. Seriously, it was on like the sixth ring by now-

" _You've reached Mark Watney. Please leave a message so I can forget to call you back._ "

"Hmph." Annie hung up the phone. She was pretty sure he never listened to his messages anyway. Instead, she clicked down the hall to Commander Lewis' office, where she happened to know the woman was working overtime filling out paperwork. Lewis looked up as she rapped sharply on the doorframe.

"Morning, Melissa. Do you know where Mark is? I need these papers signed."

Lewis shrugged. "At home, as far as I know. He didn't say anything about having plans. Did you try calling him?"

"Voicemail," Annie informed her succinctly.

"Hm. He might have the volume turned off. You might as well take the papers over to his apartment. It'll be faster, anyway."

"Will do," Annie said, already striding away. Where in her job description did it say astronaut wrangler?

* * *

Annie walked up to Mark's door. The apartment complex was nice, but unassuming. It didn't surprise her that Watney liked it here; he tried not to draw too much attention to himself. Annie was used to people being camera shy, but this was different. He didn't mind smiling for a news camera, but he hated being recognized out in public.

She knocked sharply on the door and stepped back to wait. No result. She tried again.

"C'mon, Watney," she muttered, "I don't have all day."

Across the hall a door opened and an ancient old lady peered out from behind glasses as thick as Annie's little finger.

"He's not there," she quavered, "so would you mind not rapping so loudly? Ellen's on."

"Do you know when he left?" Annie asked, smiling at the old woman. Maybe he'd be back soon.

"Early this morning. I was taking Lulu out and we left at the same time. It must have been eight, because it was before the cooking show. They made pecan pie," she informed Annie solemnly.

Annie glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven now. That was a pretty long time to run an errand.

"You're not the usual blonde that visits," the old lady said, suspicious. "Are you sisters?"

Annie stared at her for a moment. "The other…? Oh, Mindy. No, we're co workers."

"I see." The woman disappeared back into her apartment without another word, but Annie wasn't paying attention. She was already calling Mindy's number.

"Mindy," she started, when the phone was answered. "Do you know where Mark is? I _really_ need these damn papers signed."

"Um. His apartment?" She sounded like she'd just woken up.

"No, I'm there. If he's here he's not answering his door. And one of his neighbors said he left at eight this morning. I thought he might have told you where he was going." There was rustling on the other end of the line.

"Mark said he was just going to hang out this weekend. He didn't say anything about going somewhere. Hold on, I have a key. I'll be there in ten."

* * *

"Look, I'm sure he just had to go do something," Mindy said as she let them into Mark's apartment. It was quiet and clean, if a little spare, Annie noted. Apparently he'd finished unpacking. A jingle heralded the arrival of a small grey cat. Mindy knelt to pet it as it rubbed all over her.

"Hey, Tom. Where's your idiot human?" The cat only mrrowed, his eyes squinted shut in pleasure as Mindy scratched his chin.

Annie walked around the apartment, looking for a clue. There was nothing.

"His keys are gone," Mindy said, pointing to an empty hook beside the door.

"So? He did go out."

"No," Mindy shook her head, "he doesn't drive in the city. Hates the traffic. He uses public transportation or walk. Mark only drives when he leaves D.C."

"So where did he go?" Annie asked, exasperated.

* * *

"What do you mean, you lost Mark Watney?" Teddy Sanders asked carefully. He was having horrible deja vu.

"I didn't lose him," Annie told him over the phone, "I just can't find him, and no one seems to know where he is." Teddy sighed.

"We need to discuss this further. Come to the small conference room as soon as you can. And bring Miss Park, please." He disconnected the line and stood up. "Marilyn," he called as he passed through the waiting room that adjoined his office where his secretary sat, "cancel my meetings today. Something has come up."

Teddy walked down to Venkat Kapoor's office.

"Venkat," he started, but the man held up a finger and quickly went back to typing. Teddy walked around the desk to see an email from Annie telling him about Watney. He was replying, but all he'd written was "?!"

Venkat clicked send.

"We're discussing this in the small meeting room as soon as Annie gets here. Grab Lewis on your way down, please." With that, he swept out.

* * *

"Does anyone on the crew know where Watney is?" Teddy asked Lewis. She looked up from her phone, presumably texting her charges.

"No. They are, however, very concerned now." Lewis looked like the slight frown on her face was going to become permanent. Teddy wouldn't have been surprised if Watney had given her grey hairs. _He_ certainly had a few with the wayward astronaut's name on them.

"As am I," Venkat muttered.

Mindy was furiously typing on a tablet that she'd brought with her.

"What are you doing?" Annie asked.

"Trying to locate him via satellite imagery. It's a lot harder when he's not the only person on the planet."

"Isn't that illegal?" Venkat questioned. Mindy took a whole three seconds to glare at him before resuming her search.

Teddy sighed. Again. He knew the week had been too uneventful.

"It's two o'clock," he said. 'What time did you say that the neighbor saw Watney leave?"

"Eight," Annie confirmed.

"So Watney has been MIA for...six hours, give or take. There's no point in notifying the police. They won't do anything about it until twenty-four hours have passed."

"What are we supposed to do, then?" Lewis asked. No one could give her an answer.

Teddy turned to Mindy. "Any luck?" At this point, he didn't care if it was illegal, unethical, or unadvisable.

"No," she huffed.

Looks like we're just going to have to wait, then," he said grimly.

* * *

Lewis was watching Martinez pace the floor. Johansson looked like she wanted to punch someone, and Beck was moping like someone had kicked his puppy. They were all tense. It was almost seven thirty. They hadn't heard anything from or about Mark in over eleven hours. It was not a good time.

Her phone ringing, set on the loudest possible volume, momentarily froze everyone in the room. Lewis snatched it off the table. Unknown caller. She hit answer.

"Hello?" She said. If it wasn't Mark or news about Mark, she was going to be pissed.

"Lewis? It's Mark." Lewis had an intense moment of relief. Then she got angry.

"Where the hell are you, Watney?" The crew was staring at her with rapt attention.

"Um." There was muffled talking in the background. Did he not know where he was? Mark told her the name of a hospital. That wasn't even in the area.

" _Why_ are you in a hospital? Almost two hours away? What happened?" Lewis was having a hard time not screeching. Martinez was making "what the fuck" gestures with his hands. She ignored him, and snapped her fingers and mouthed "paper and pen" to Johansson, who got them for her.

"I was hiking, and I, uh, kind of fell. So it took awhile to get back to my car. I found a very nice park ranger though. Or he found me. He thinks I fractured my ankle, so he drove me to the hospital." He was rambling. But he sounded alright. For the most part. Hiking? Why was he hiking?

"Who's phone is this?" Lewis asked him.

"The ranger's."

Lewis took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. "I have to go inform NASA that you are, in fact, alive. You are not to leave that hospital until I get there. Is that clear?" If he wasn't there when she got there, she would find him and run him over with her minivan.

"Yes ma'am." He sounded meek. Good. But just to be sure-

" _Stay there,_ Watney. I mean it." She hung up the phone without waiting for a reply and power walked down to Teddy's office, where he, Annie, and Venkat were sitting.

"He called me," she informed them without preamble.

"Where the hell is he?" Annie asked.

"A hospital near Shenandoah National Park," Lewis told her. "Apparently he went hiking and twisted his ankle or something. I'm going to go get him."

Teddy waved her out. "Go."

She went, three of her crew trailing her like ducklings.

* * *

Beck held on for dear life as Lewis drove like a bat out of hell. He understood, really, but they were either going to die horribly or get pulled over. The spaceship had felt safer. He was very surprised when they arrived at the hospital in one piece.

Lewis parked and they all piled out of the minivan. The three of them lingered in the waiting room as their commander approached the receptionist and motioned for them to wait while she disappeared down a hallway. They awkwardly sat down to wait.

"She's gonna murder him," Martinez said after a moment.

"Understatement," snorted Johannson. She had her arms crossed. None of them were going to relax until they saw Mark, Beck realized.

It was only about fifteen minutes before Lewis walked, much slower, back into the waiting room, beside Mark who was hobbling along on crutches.

"Hey guys," said Mark.

"Mark, what the fuck man?" Martinez cursed. That seemed to be the general sentiment.

"Sorry," Watney said.

"What were you thinking?" Johansson demanded.

"I'm sorry," Mark repeated.

"He wasn't thinking." Lewis still looked pissed off.

"Guys," mark said, a little louder. The crew looked at him. "I'm sorry." There was a moment where no one said anything.

"You're a mess," Beck told him. It was mostly as a distraction, but also true. Watney was covered in mud and scratches and bruises. He also looked exhausted. So basically like he'd gone ten rounds with a wood chipper. A malicious one. He would need to get cleaned up and Beck wanted to check him over as well. Not that he didn't trust the ER doctor, but, well, that guy didn't know Watney's medical history.

"I'd say you're right about that," a new voice declared. It was an older man in a ranger's uniform.

"This is the park ranger that saved my bacon. Leonard Cordell, I'd like you to meet Melissa Lewis, Rick Martinez, Beth Johansson, and Chris Beck."

"Pleasure to meet you," Cordell said, nodding to them. He had a soft drawl that made him sound calm. Or maybe h just was calm and it contrasted with the rest of them. "I have to be going now, but I wanted to make sure Mark got off alright."

"Thank you," Mark said. "I really appreciate everything you've done." He looked like he really meant it. Beck thought that he must really like the ranger if he dropped the sarcasm with him.

"Yes," Lewis affirmed, "we do."

Cordell looked a little embarrassed at all of the attention. "Just doing my job. you all drive safe, now." He made his exit.

"Can we go home now?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, Mark," Martinez said, "Let's go home."

Lewis went to get the van, insisting that Mark didn't need to hobble all the way down to the parking lot. Martinez helped Mark climb into the middle seat of the van. The fact that he didn't protest the assistance spoke volumes. Beck exchanged a glance with Lewis and hopped in beside Mark. Martinez took the back seat, and Johansson got the navigator's position up front.

Lewis drove at a much more sedate pace on the way back. At first, Watney got an earful from the three of them about how much hot water he was in, but since he just agreed that it had been stupid, they ran out of steam pretty quickly. Ten minutes later Beck looked over to see Mark fast asleep, head leaning against the window.

"He must be super tired to fall asleep that easily," Martinez commented quietly. Beck hadn't been the only person to note the change.

"Yeah," Johansson answered, turning around in her seat, "I hear hiking several miles up a mountain on a broken ankle will do that to a guy."

"Hush," said Lewis, "let him sleep." The conversation subsided, although Beck caught Lewis checking on Watney in the rearview mirror several times.

"He's fine," he assured her quietly.

"I know." But Lewis guarded her crew carefully. Losing Watney the first time has devastated her. Now they had him back and she was determined not to lose him-or anyone else-again.

* * *

Martinez volunteered to stay with Watney overnight. Lewis hadn't asked him, but the crew were pretty much on the same page: don't let him out of your sight. He knew his wife would fuss a little, but she would understand when he told her it was Mark.

He guided a groggy Mark onto the elevator and into his apartment, where Major Tom greeted them enthusiastically, almost tripping Watney.

"Cut it out, Tom," Watney mumbled. "One fall is enough."

Martinez distracted the cat with fresh food and water while Watney hopped off to shower.

"Keep the cast dry!" Martinez reminded him. All he got in return was a wave of the hand. He was a little concerned that Watney would have trouble showering, but he listened carefully. No major crashing noises seemed to indicate that everything was alright.

Watney emerged dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He was less muddy, but that just made the scratches and bruising show up better.

"I suppose I don't have the right to tell you to stop hovering," he sighed, limping over to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

"Nope," Martinez told him, popping the 'P'. "Now, where are your extra blankets? I'm sleeping on your couch." Watney directed him.

"But don't blame me if Tom wakes you up at like six in the morning."

"Noted."

"I'm going to bed," Watney told him. 'I'll see you in a few hours."

"Good night," Martinez said, arranging his blankets on the couch. Major Tom watched, curious. Watney paused at the hall.

"Rick?"

"Yeah, Mark?" Martinez looked up from what he was doing.

"Thanks. I really am sorry about this." Martinez believed him.

"It's all good, man. We got your back."

"I know."

* * *

 **Once again, thank you so much for supporting me. It means more than you know-especially on days like today.**


	15. Chapter 15

**I love all of the comments and suggestions everyone is making! It really is awesome to have such a great response. Just a heads up-I know very little about technical elevator things, so most of that part is glossed over. Willing suspension of belief? *whispers* roll with it**

* * *

It was awkward saying good-bye to someone and then walking in the same direction as them. And _then_ getting on the same elevator as them. Especially if that someone was Teddy Sanders, your boss and frenemy.

I was, of course, speaking from experience, since that was exactly what had happened after seeing him in the hallway at NASA headquarters.

"Guess it's not good-bye after all," I tried to joke, adjusting my crutches. Beck had been scary when he told me what he would do if I didn't follow the ER doctor's instructions exactly. They were a pain, but I was getting used to them. Beck had still been less scary than Mindy the day after my woodland misadventure.

"It seems so," Teddy said gravely. I could never really get a read on him. He had never been rude (other than that one time when he decided to almost let me die on Mars, but hey, it all worked out), but I got the sense that he was always quietly exasperated. Now, I tend to have that effect on people, but that was his constant vibe. It was weird. I used to think he was intimidating, but after Mars, Teddy Sanders isn't even on my list of scary.

So instead of trying to make small talk I watched the numbers tick by on the little display above the doors. Eight. Seven. Six-

Without warning there was a jolt that almost knocked me off of my feet. I stumbled into Teddy, who had grabbed the rail. The lights flickered and went out, leaving only the strips of emergency lights around the bottom edge of the elevator to illuminate the space. The elevator had ground to a halt.

"Um," I said, trying to regain my balance, "Houston, we have a problem."

I was ignored. Teddy had his phone out and was punching buttons. He held his phone up to his ear. I let him do his thing-he would probably get better results than I would, anyway.

"It's Sanders," he said into the phone, "I'm in the north elevator, and it seems to have malfunctioned. Mhm. Stuck between floors five and six. Watney's with me." He listened for a moment. "What's the estimate? Fine. Update me when you have a number."

"That doesn't sound good," I commented as he hung up the phone.

"There's been a city-wide power outage," he told me. "Apparently there was some sort of technical malfunction at the power grid. They don't know how long it'll take to get everything back up and running."

"So...we're stuck in this elevator indefinitely?" Please don't say yes, please don't say-

"Yes."

I huffed. Of course. Typical. I leaned my crutches against the door and carefully slid down the wall.

"What are you doing?" Teddy asked. He looked confused.

"Sitting. I have a broken ankle and no idea how long we'll be here," I answered abruptly. I was liking the situation less and less with each passing second.

Teddy hesitated. I couldn't make out his expression very well in the dim light, but I had a feeling that he was weighing the potential germ infested floor against standing up until we got out. The floor won. He sat on the floor next to me, unbuttoning his suit jacket. I closed my eyes and focused on trying to slow my breathing down. My pulse was starting to rise.

"Watney?" Teddy was addressing me. I tried to focus on what he was saying. "Are you alright?"

"I'm a little claustrophobic," I managed to get out.

"I don't remember that being in your file." He sounded confused. I tilted my head and opened one eye to stare at him.

"It's a recent development. I spent way too much time in a rover about this size. Not fun times." My words were clipped, but I wasn't sure if it was because I was trying _not_ to have a panic attack, or if it was the sarcasm. Probably both.

"Oh." He fiddled with his tie, straightening it. "It probably won't be long before they get us out." I didn't attempt to reply, instead focusing on doing the breathing exercises that Lewis had been teaching me. She did yoga. Somehow I hadn't been surprised.

It was almost twenty minutes later when Teddy spoke up again. I had a pretty good handle on myself by that time. Therapy, my crew, and plain old time had helped immensely. I still had panic attacks, but if I had a moment to collect myself then I could usually get it under control.

"Why did you go off by yourself, anyway?"

"What?" I looked at him. He gestured vaguely to my cast. "Why did I go hiking?"

"Yes."

"I don't know," i shrugged, "it wasn't something I planned. I just needed to get away."

"Get away from what?" He looked like he was seriously asking, not being intentionally obtuse.

"The noise. The people. I still have a hard time with it. I don't really have a private life anymore. You're the director of NASA, but I don't know a whole lot about you. I don't know what your parents names are or where you grew up, or anything like that. When I died," I made air quotes, "everybody wanted to know all about me. And when they found out I wasn't dead it was even worse. The media plastered my personal information all over the place. I can't go anywhere and just be left alone." I realized I'd been ranting and took a breath. "So I just needed to be by myself for a little bit. Was it stupid and poorly thought out? Probably. Am I going to do it again? Not without informing someone else first. But I've already been lectured to hell and back, so I'm good, thanks."

Teddy raised an eyebrow. I could check "yell at boss" off my bucket list. He didn't say anything for a minute. I was beginning to think that it was a very good thing that they couldn't really fire me at this point.

"I never really considered that," he pursed his lips, "I thought you were just being difficult."

I snorted. "I'm not going to say that I'm never difficult, but I usually have reasons for doing things. And I wouldn't intentionally freak out my crew."

"No," he said, "I suppose not."

His phone rang then. I think we were both a little relieved.

"Sanders." I could hear an indistinct voice on the other end of the line. "Good. How long? Fine." He turned to me. "The power is back on. They have to reset the elevator, but it shouldn't take long."

"Good. My foot is falling asleep." I wiggled my uncasted foot.

It took about ten more minutes for the lights to come back on and the elevator to move again. It went all the way to the first floor. Teddy gave me a hand up, so at least I was standing when the doors opened. There were a couple of firemen standing there along with a maintenance worker. He radioed someone to tell them that we were out. The firemen dispersed. It was very anticlimactic, which suited me just fine.

"Go home, Watney," Teddy told me. "Try not to get lost."

"Was that a joke?" I called after him as he strode off down the hallway to do director-y things. He ignored me. Back to normal.


	16. Chapter 16

**This should have been up yesterday, but I've had major writers block this week. By the way I'll probably move from Monday updates, since my schedule changed. Tuesdays or Wednesdays, now, although sometimes life happens. I tried to write something else but it didn't work. I'll come back to that. In the meantime, enjoy Mark Watney, Stubborn Ass. Thanks to the Guest review that gave me this prompt!**

* * *

"This is dumb, and I don't want to be here."

I was, of course, talking to myself. I couldn't quite shake that habit from when I was on Mars. It earned me a few odd looks sometimes. My car was parked in front of an unassuming one story building that looked more like it should be in a rural town than on the outskirts of D.C. The sign informed me that it was, indeed, Harney and Cook, ophthalmologists.

Why on earth was I here?

* * *

"Why do they make these street signs so hard to read?" I muttered, squinting at the lopsided green rectangle. "I mean, seriously. They're encouraging reckless driving."

"If you can't navigate then get out of the navigator's chair, Watney," Mindy sniped, trying to avoid parked cars. One way streets in this city were a nightmare.

"I am not exiting this moving vehicle. And there's no way I'm sitting in the back with only me and you in the car. That's ridiculous." It didn't even make sense. And I was very good at navigating, as long as there was proper signage. Which there was absolutely not, here.

"Then tell me what friggin street we're passing!" She spared me a withering glance.

I squinted harder. "Oak Street! There, you happy?"

"Not really, since that was where we were supposed to turn! Hang on, I have to circle the block. You don't get to navigate anymore." We careened around an SUV that was way too far from the curb.

"I didn't want to navigate in the first place!" I shook my post-it note that someone had scrawled directions on at her. "I can barely even read this. The handwriting is atrocious."

"You're atrocious."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, that's mature."

* * *

The speaker was droning on and on, and I was super bored. That's not like regular bored, where one would be down for a nap. This was I'm-so-bored-that-reading-Great-Expectations-sounds-interesting. You know it's serious if you get to that state. I had taken to making faces at the other people in the meeting, which included the crew, Teddy, Venkat, Mitch, Annie, and Mindy. Mitch had just gotten back from "vacation," meaning that nobody could prove he sent the Rich Purnell maneuver to the crew so they couldn't fire him. Good times. I liked Mitch-he was straightforward and tried to do right by us astronauts. Or maybe I just liked him because he basically flipped NASA off. Either way.

Teddy, Annie, and Venkat all seemed to be paying attention to the presenter. I highly doubted that was the case, but I guess when you're subjected to multiple mind-numbing meetings a day you get used to it. Mindy was typing on her computer, ostensibly taking notes, but probably not. The crew looked just as bored as I felt, and I was pretty sure Mitch was actually asleep. He had his eyes closed, anyway.

I'd forgotten the presenter's last name, but I was pretty sure his first name was Dave. or Dan. Something like that. I was currently wishing that Dave-Dan was more considerate, because I couldn't read his powerpoint. Seriously, guy, not all of us were sitting right next to it. I nudged Johansson, who was sitting beside me because Lewis had decided that Martinez and I were to be separated during meetings. She turned to look at me.

"What is he even talking about?" I whispered as quietly as I could. Dave-Dan didn't notice.

"Astrophysics," she whispered back. "Can't you read?"

"That? Not from here."

Johansson gave me a funny look, but Lewis was glaring at us from the other side of the table so I just shrugged.

* * *

"I'd like a number two with everything, no fries." The cashier rang me up.

"Dude, why do you get the same thing all the time?" Martinez complained. We were at our favorite burger joint within walking distance of NASA. The meeting from purgatory had finally ended.

"Because it's good. Besides, I don't have to look at the menu." I waved a hand at the blackboard-style menu on the wall behind the counter.

"Why does that matter?" Martinez asked, grabbing extra napkins from the dispenser and herding me away from the lunch crowd and towards our favorite booth.

"It's hard to read, and I don't like being rushed. You know how busy it gets in here at lunchtime."

"The menu looks fine to me. You're just too stuck in your ways, man."

"Whatever," I swatted him. "No throwing french fries at me this time."

"No promises." He grinned.

* * *

"Mark," Beck began. I was instantly on my guard. He had his you're-not-going-to-like-this voice on.

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"I think you need to get your eyes checked." He looked pretty determined.

"Checked for what?" Maybe I could throw him off. Beck blinked, but didn't get distracted.

"For vision. I've heard that you've been mentioning that you're having a hard time seeing things at a distance."

"That's ridiculous. I've said no such thing. Who told you this?" I crossed my arms. He'd cornered me in the hallway, but it was a surprisingly deserted hallway that gave me no chance to make my escape.

"Martinez. Johansson. _Mindy_." Beck blocked my attempt to slide past him. "I've made you an appointment. This is not up for debate." He handed me a small white card with a day and time on it.

"Oh no, I'm very busy then. Lots of meetings. Things to do." I tried to hand it back.

"No you're not. I checked. You're going, and if you don't co-operate I'm going with you."

"No way." That was not happening, ever.

"Then you'll go?"

"Fine." I stuffed the card into my pocket.

* * *

The waiting room was actually kind of nice, in a local business kind of way. There was an eclectic assortment of chairs and tables, with magazines to look through. After signing in, I took a seat. The only other people here at this time of day were retirees with no scheduling conflicts, and me. Although technically I _was_ a retiree-

"Mr. Watney?" A short, grey-haired man in a white coat was standing at the door to the waiting room. I stood.

"That's me."

He smiled at me. "I'm Dr. Harney. This way, please."

I followed him down a short hallway and into another room with the stereotypical eye doctor chair, with all of the lenses and gadgets that made it look like a medieval torture device.

The next fifteen minutes consisted of the hardest decision making of my life. Was two better than three? I don't know! Stop asking me! I tried to be civil, since Harney was a nice old guy, but he could probably tell that I didn't want to be there. Finally he stopped with the lenses and made some notes on my chart.

"Now, Mr. Watney," he said, "Dr. Beck forwarded your medical file to me."

"Why do you need my file for an eye exam?" I asked, frowning. That seemed excessive. At least I wouldn't have to explain anything to him.

"Because extended malnutrition can affect one's vision, as it seems to have done in your case. It's nothing too serious, but I'm afraid that you don't have perfect vision anymore."

"I gathered that," I commented dryly.

"You'll need glasses, of course.," Harney continued. I was starting to think that Beck chose him because he knew that he could put up with me. "You've developed nearsightedness, and so have a difficult time seeing things farther away. Glasses would probably be better than contacts, since they're easier to take off to read."

"Glasses."

"Yes."

I groaned internally. I did not want glasses. I wanted to go home and cuddle with Major Tom and forget that this had ever happened. "Ok. How does this work?"

"You get to pick some frames, and we'll call you when they're ready."

Great. More decisions.

* * *

"No."

"Come on, Watney," Mindy goaded, "just put them on. I want to see how they look."

"I don't like them." I was well and truly irritated with the dang things. "They get in the way, and give me a headache, and they look dumb."

"You just have to get used to them. The headaches will go away once you've worn them for a couple of days. Can you see better with them?" She flicked popcorn at me. We were working our way through Stargate, and this week's showing was at my apartment.

"I guess," I admitted, grudging.

"Then just let me see."

"Fine, if you'll stop bugging me about it." I got up and went to my bedroom to glab the glasses. They were a plain black frame. I hadn't spent a lot of time picking them out. Plopping back down on the couch, I shoved them on my face and crossed my arms. "Happy?"

Mindy pursed her lips and examined me. "Not bad. Makes you look like you know what you're doing." I grunted. "You know," she continued, "now you have a superman disguise."

"What?" My interest was peaked.

"Superman. He puts on glasses and nobody recognizes him. Maybe it'll help with the paparazzi."

"Hmm." I could deal with being Clark Kent. He wasn't quite Tony Stark, but nobody was.

"Now stop bitching and watch," Mindy said. I stuck my tongue out at her and hit play.

At least I could see the screen.


	17. Chapter 17

**So. Yeah. I'm here. Major writer's block last week, couldn't get anything down. Also I'm just really tired. But I felt bad for neglecting you all for so long, so have Johansson and Beck and Mindy being awesome. Multiple POV as a prize for not giving up on me.**

* * *

"What are you doing?" Johansson asked, peering over my shoulder.

I started a bit guiltily, looking up from the meeting outline I was supposed to be following, and definitely not doodling on. I hadn't even realized we were on a break.

"Nothing," I said, moving my hand to cover the little squiggly drawings I'd made with my pen.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. If you're making caricatures of Teddy again Lewis is going to have a shit fit."

"Okay, one, that was Martinez, not me," I protested. "I just happened to be sitting beside him at the time."

"Which is one of the many reasons you're not allowed to sit near each other in meetings anymore," Johansson put in.

"And two," I continued as if she hadn't interrupted, "I don't draw people. Too complicated."

"So what are you drawing then?" she asked.

"Nothing. Just lines and stuff. Trying to stay awake, you know?"

She snorted. "I don't think it worked, if the way you've been zoning out is any indication."

I hadn't slept well for like a week. The people in the apartment above me were new. And loud. They seemed to have marital issues that they didn't mind sharing with the rest of the damn building. I'd caught my elderly neighbor lady eyeing the ceiling malevolently as she walked down the hall. Things would quiet down when people complained enough, but right now they hadn't gotten enough warnings from the manager yet. I shrugged.

"New, noisy neighbors. What can you do?" I told her. That, and the chronic insomnia that not even Major Tom could cure completely. I didn't feel like bringing that up, though.

"Tell me about it," Beth complained, "There's this guy a couple doors down from me that thinks he's great with a harmonica. A harmonica. Who plays those anymore?"

"Bluegrass bands? Hipsters?" I guessed. She rolled her eyes.

"I don't know, and I don't care. But he needs to stop before I take matters into my own hands."

Teddy walked back into the room, instructing Annie on what to do with some or other press release. That was our cue that the second half of the meeting was about to start. Hopefully it would be over quickly. I was tired of drawing the boring ferns in the corner of the room.

* * *

"So. Ferns, huh?" Johansson flapped my paper, forgotten on the table, at me. I blinked at her. I really wasn't on top of my game.

"Well, yeah, if you're really that interested," I told her. She examined the page more closely. "You're pretty good at it."

"I'm a botanist. We draw a lot of plants. It's kind of in the job description." I really didn't understand why she was making a big deal out of it. It was just a doodle. I did them all the time. Maybe there was a secret significance that my sleep-deprived brain was missing.

"Come on, Beth, let him be," Beck said as he walked up to us, a to-go cup of coffee in each hand. He held one out to me. I snatched it.

"You're my favorite," I said, "don't tell the others."

* * *

Beck guessed that he wouldn't be the favorite if Mark knew that the coffee he'd just handed him was decaf. He'd gone to an actual coffee shop instead of just the cafeteria, so hopefully it wouldn't be that noticeable.

"Did you even sleep last night?" Beck asked him.

Mark just shrugged. "Yeah, a couple of hours."

Liar, Beck thought. He wasn't a betting man, but if Mark had slept at all last night he'd eat his own stethoscope. "Uh-huh," he said. "So a bad night's sleep and you're reduced to fern drawing." He knew he was testing Mark's patience, but he needed to see exactly how cranky his teammate was. For science.

Mark frowned. "Why is everyone so obsessed with my doodling?" He shook his head. "You know what? Never mind. I'm going to see if Mindy's in Satcon." He turned and walked away, guarding the coffee cup like it was a newborn child.

"Sure," Beth scoffed. "He got plenty of sleep. Venkat was trying to ask him something during our meeting and I don't even think he heard him."

"I don't even think he realizes how tired he is," Beck said. "Because otherwise he totally would have realized that his coffee is decaf."

Beth stared at him, wide-eyed. "You didn't."

"I did. And I have no regrets. However, you had best not go spreading this around," he threatened. She held up her hands.

"My lips are sealed."

Beck leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "Good. I'd better call Mindy and warn her that zombie Mark is headed her way."

* * *

Mindy hung up the phone as Mark walked into Satcon. Beck hadn't been exaggerating. He really did look like a zombie. It took him a minute to zero in on her. "Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey," he replied. "How's things?"

Yeah. This was going to be a scintillating conversation. Not. Time to take matters into her own hands. She turned to the person beside her.

"Cory, I'm taking lunch." He glanced between her and Mark and nodded. "Go for it," he told her. She rolled her eyes at him. He'd been trying to convince her to make moves on Mark for months. She stood and guided Mark out of Satcon by his elbow, ignoring Cory's smirk.

"I like your breakroom," Mark told her. Jesus, he was out of it. He'd been in the breakroom a million times. She remembered him mentioning a couple of days ago that the new couple upstairs was obnoxious, but this was getting out of hand.

"Why don't you sit on the couch. I'm going to make us some tea."

"I have coffee. I don't need tea," he protested.

Mindy ignored him in favor of rummaging through the tea drawer to find her stash of chamomile. Nobody else really drank it, so she could count on always having some on hand. She got chamomile for Mark and peppermint for herself and clicked the water heater on. Then she turned and plucked the coffee cup out of his hands and shook it.

"This is empty, Mark."

"Oh. Well. That's disappointing."

"It's fine, I'm making tea."

"Cool." He paused. "I kind of want to go home now."

"Why don't you?"

"Beck drove. He has to do some stuff before we leave. I didn't think about it this morning, so I guess I'll just hang out and wait for him."

Mindy highly suspected that he hadn't been thinking about anything all day, much less how he was going to get home. She dropped the teabags into their respective mugs.

"Alright, so spill. How much sleep have you actually had in the past three days?"

"Promise not to tell Beck?" He squinted at her.

"Of course," she said. Meaning, Of course I'm telling him, you dummy.

"Um. Like…three or four hours?"

"A night?" Maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought.

"Total." Well, shit. Never mind. Mindy poured a generous amount of cream and a couple of sugar packets into Mark's tea and handed it over. He wrinkled his nose at her.

"What is this?"

"Chamomile. Don't make that face at me. It's good for you."

She studied Mark while he drank his tea. He looked like he was exhausted but trying to hide it. He really should know better, by now. It wasn't just the media that followed his every move. If anything, his crew practically stalked him. She had a feeling that he knew all that and just hated people fussing over him.

"Why don't you lie down until Beck's finished. He knows where to find you," she suggested. Mark set his mug down carefully on the end table.

"Yeah, ok." He leaned sideways until gravity took care of the rest. Mindy wasn't sure if he'd actually be able to sleep in the breakroom, but apparently his body was ready, insomnia and employees be damned. When she looked up from her tablet a couple of minutes later, he was asleep.

A while later, Daniel, a newer employee, hired after Ares III was already on their way home, wandered into the lounge. He stopped and stared at Mark.

"Is that…?"

"Yes. And if you wake him up I will personally see to it that your body is never found," Mindy told him in a low voice. He backtracked out of the room.

* * *

After a few inquiries at Satcon, Beck found Mark asleep on the breakroom couch with Mindy sitting at the table doing something on her tablet. She looked up as he entered the room.

"Ah. It's you," she said.

"How long…?"

"Almost an hour and a half now," she answered his unfinished question. She clicked a few more things with her stylus and set the device down. "Apparently he's had around 3 hours of sleep in the past seventy-two hours."

Beck winced. "That's worse than I thought, but somehow I'm not very surprised. Do we know why he's having a hard time all of the sudden?" Trouble sleeping was the norm for Mark, but this was unusual.

"I think it might have something to do with the people above him. Or it could just be his internal clock screwing with him. Either way, it's ridiculous."

Beck nodded. "I know. I'm working on it from my end, but I don't know what to do about the environmental factors."

"I think I have a few ideas. I'll let you know." Mindy clicked her stylus on the table a few times. "But for now, please get him home. I'm beginning to get dirty looks from my coworkers."

Beck walked over to the couch and tapped Mark on the shoulder. "Hey, Mark. C'mon, time to go home." He gave him a gentle shake. The botanist cracked one eye.

"What?"

"Home. Let's go."

"Think I'll just stay here, thanks. 's a nice couch."

"No can do, Mark," Mindy chimed in. "Get up."

"Fine." He managed to get vertical. Half of his hair was sticking straight up. Beck decided not to mention it, in the interest of getting him out of the building. He steered Mark towards the door.

"Bye, Mindy," Beck called. She waved.

* * *

Mindy took the elevator in Mark's apartment building, bypassing his floor in favor of the one above it. Immediately after the doors opened she could hear muffled yelling coming from the middle of the hall. Apparently it was going to be easy enough to find the people she was looking for. She knocked sharply on the plain green door. The shouting inside ceased, and she heard footsteps thudding towards the door. The chain rattled, and it swung open. A tall, skinny rat of a man stood in the doorway. He glared at her.

"What do you want?" Mindy gave him a bland smile. She had purposefully worn a black skirt and blazer and a plain white shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a neat bun.

"Mr. Batecliff, you and your partner are causing disturbances in this building. I need you to cease and desist."

"Yeah, whatever lady," he scoffed. "I don't have to listen to you."

"No, you don't," Mindy agreed, typing something into her tablet, "However, you should probably listen to your rap sheet."

"What?" Batecliff looked confused. By now a frumpy looking woman with greasy brown hair had appeared by his shoulder.

"Randy Maurice Batecliff" Mindy read, "Posession of illegal substances. Selling illegal substances. Breaking and entering. Grand larceny. Shall I go on, Randy?" Batecliff swallowed hard. Mindy turned her attention to the woman. "Mrs. Brianna Batecliff. Your sheet is comparable. I don't see the need to list it out."

She took a step forward, so she was standing face to face with Randy. "I'd suggest being quieter or moving. You're breaking parole, having that amount of drugs in your apartment, Randy."

"How do you—" he started. "The government knows a great number of things, Randy." Mindy told him. After all, NASA was technically part of the government. "Now shut up or get out." She turned and strode back down the hallway. Her point had been made.


	18. Chapter 18

**So here, have what I was trying to write last week that I just couldn't work out in my head. Thanks to my Martian Muse, the volleyball queen and her BRAND NEW FIANCE, Pratt. Nerds.**

* * *

"Why are you so twitchy?" I asked Beck, suspicious. "What are you planning?"

He looked at me with wide eyes. "Planning? Why do you think I'm planning something?"

"Probably because you're attempting to wear a hole in my carpet with your infernal pacing," I told him, swiveling my head to watch him from the couch as he walked back and forth in my living room. He'd dropped by because he'd been _in the neighborhood_. Yeah, right. And I was running for president-although if I ran Mars all by myself, could Earth really be that hard? Mark Watney: President...nah.

"Oh. Right." He made a few more laps in silence. "It's just...I need your advice. I, um, actually am planning something. But I haven't got all the details straight yet."

"Beck."

"So I thought that I would see if you had any input on it, or, you know, some ideas."

"Chris."

"Because I really don't know what I'm doing. And I don't want to mess it up, but-"

" _Christopher_."

He stopped and stared at me. I made a grabby motion with my hand. "I wanna see it."

Beck plopped down on the couch beside me and pulled a small black box out of his pocket. I snatched it out of his hand and opened it. Inside was a silver band with a diamond inlaid in the center. It was delicate and streamlined, without frills or ostentatious ornamentation. In other words, it was perfect for Johansson. I bounced a bit in my seat.

"This is perfect! What's the plan? Romantic dinner? Messenger pigeon? What?" I asked him rapid fire, carefully closing the box and handing it back.

"I-I don't know. I want it to be perfect, but I don't want to do something really cliche, either. I'm drawing a blank."

"Okay, first of all: stop worrying so much. It'll be fine." He looked like he was going to be sick. "Does Johansson suspect?"

"I don't think so. I mean, we've...talked about it, but it was all in the future."

"So you have no plan," I stated.

"Well...yeah. I guess you could say that."

I sighed. This was going to be interesting. "You know what?" I told him, "It's going to be fine. You're going to come hang out with Martinez and I tonight and we'll all come up with a brilliant plan to totally amaze the super nerd."

He blinked. "Hang out? Doing what?"

"I'm told that on St. Patrick's Day it's traditional to drink and pretend you're Irish," I said dryly, leaning back on the couch, "at least, that's what Martinez thinks. And apparently he's an expert. So we're wearing green, going to some hole in the wall pub, and drinking some dark beer. And you're coming, so we can brainstorm."

"Oh. Ah…"

"Nope. You're coming."

"...Fine."

* * *

 **7:37 p.m.**

"Are you sure that this is a good idea?" Beck asked as we walked towards what Martinez called the best pub in town. I wasn't sure how he had determined that, but he seemed pretty confident. In truth I had my doubts about the wisdom of our outing. We were going to a bar on a drinking holiday. It was bound to be loud and crowded, and everyone was going to be drunk. Not my current idea of a good time, but I was trying to branch out from sitting on my couch hiding from people.

"It'll be fine. You need to un-tense anyway," I declared to Beck. Martinez, walking in the middle, slapped us both on the back.

"C'mon, you two stick in the muds! It's going to be awesome." He was inordinately excited for someone who was definitely not Irish.

The inside of the pub was actually kind of nice. It didn't feel like it was being forced into having a certain atmosphere. The bar ran along the left wall, mirrored shelves displaying the high-end liquor. There was a variety of eclectic furniture-tables and chairs of all shapes and sizes-most of it dark wood, scattered around in the long, narrow building, which itself was nestled between a boutique store and some fancy restaurant. The lighting was warm without being too bright. A crowd had already begun to gather, but there was a range of ages instead of only either those barely of legal drinking age or the senior crowd. We fit right in, which was a relief. I didn't feel like drawing a lot of attention.

Beck and I grabbed a smaller table towards the back while Martinez grabbed the first round. Beck still looked kind of uncomfortable, but I'd already decided that I liked the place. I took the seat against the wall.

"Hey guys!" It was Martinez, carrying three beer bottles with labels I didn't recognize. "House brew. Best in D.C."

"Fancy beer, Martinez?" I jeered. "What, are you an alcohol snob now?"

* * *

 **10:14 p.m.**

"This is the best beer ever," I declared. By now I'd had enough of it to decide its quality, and I had to admit that Martinez had been right. No one was listening to me, though.

"No, here's what you've got to do, man," Martinez was telling Beck, waving his hands to emphasize the point. "You've got to tie it to a dog's collar and have the dog take it to her. Dogs're cute. It'll work for sure."

"Beth doesn't have a dog, and neither do I," Beck said, looking confused. He'd had at least as many beers as I had, but wasn't quite as good at staying sober as I was. I was an expert at that.

"So get one," Martinez said.

"I dunno." Beck looked doubtful.

"No, don't listen to this guy," I interrupted, "you have to put it in a cupcake."

" _In_ a cupcake?" Beck asked.

"On one. Whatever. Because she's sweet, get it?" I raised my eyebrows, waiting for a response. Beck stared at me.

"That's a terrible idea," Martinez scoffed.

"And also a choking hazard," Beck added.

"Well I thought it was good." I shook my bottle, hoping there was something left. No dice. "Who's turn is it?" I asked.

"Yours," my crew mates chimed in unison.

* * *

 **12:51 a.m.**

"Okay," I said, before stopping to look around for my beer. It had just been there, like literally two seconds ago. I finally located it when Martinez nudged it towards me. I picked it up and swooshed it around in the air. "Here's the plan: we kidnap Johansson and take 'er to a field somewhere. Then you hire a skywriter to write _Hey I think you're out of this world_ above 'er and drop the ring and a bunch of flowers down with tiny little parachutes. It's foolproof. She can't say no to that."

"That is sooo lame," Martinez complained.

"Shut up, Rick. Your last idea was to get 'er a ring pop and then say just kidding." He stuck his tongue out at me. Beck was just shaking his head gravely at nothing in particular. We were all pretty snockered. I looked at my watch and winced when I saw the time. "We should prob'bly go home now."

"Yeah, I told Marissa I'd watch David tomorrow so she could go out with her friends," Martinez said. "We're good at compromising and shit."

We were in a little better condition than Beck, so I walked him outside while Martinez took care of his tab. The air was brisk without being too cold; it was a nice change from the cozy interior of the pub. Beck leaned against the streetlight for balance.

I really should have paid closer attention. One second I was trying to move out of the way of some _very_ tipsy clubbers, and the next I hear Beck. On the phone.

"Beth?" He said, like he was hoping it was her even though he had her on speed dial. My head whipped around. Nuh-uh. Not happening.

So basically, that's how I tackled Beck to keep him from drunk-dial proposing. We landed in the bushes planted in the lone strip of dirt between the sidewalk and the road. Seriously, screw holly bushes. They may look nice, but they're pointy as hell. Beck spluttered beneath me, but it didn't matter-I was on damage control. I grabbed the phone.

"Beck's phone, how can I help you?" I gasped.

"Watney? What the hell? It's the middle of the frickin night. Why do you have Chris' phone?" Johansson sounded like she'd been woken up and was very, very grumpy.

"Uh, wrong number?" Great. Perfect.

"What the hell does that mean?" She growled. It was like listening to a bear wake up from hibernation.

"Button," I corrected, "wrong button. Bye!"

I hung up on her. Beck was on his own explaining this one tomorrow. Speaking of, he was pushing at me.

"Get off," he mumbled. "Gimme my phone back."

I extricated myself from the bush and grabbed his hand to help him out. "No way. You've lost phone privileges for tonight. This morning. Whatever."

Martinez chose that moment to appear. "What are you guys doing?"

"Home. Tell you tomorrow."

"Whatever," he shrugged, "here's our cab."

* * *

 **1:40 a.m.**

On our way back we dropped Beck off first. I hid his phone in the refrigerator so he'd find it in the morning, but not until then. Martinez had the longest way to go, so I was second. I staggered into my apartment and plopped onto my bed. Major Tom was occupying the pillows, so I just didn't bother moving from my horizontal position. Kicking off my shoes, I reached out to awkwardly pet him.

"He'll figure it out, Tom." I muttered. "Or Johansson will. Either way, I hope you own a suit."

The cat started purring.


	19. Chapter 19

**Ta-da. I wanted to do more with this chapter, but it just wasn't co-operating. I'll probably expand on it next time.**

* * *

Major Tom waited until seven a.m. the next day before demanding that I, his personal butler, serve him breakfast. I was already well on my way to waking up, so I didn't mind. Too much. It had been a while since I'd gotten drunk...actually, I couldn't really remember the last time. It must have been B.M. (Before Mars), since my doctors had frowned upon debauchery when I'd gotten back. Although, between the alcohol and my upstairs neighbors finally settling down, I'd gotten some decent sleep. The landlady must have gotten enough complaints to write them up.

Grimacing at the taste of morning-after-alcohol-binge in my mouth, I padded to the kitchen to find water and feed Tom. "I hope you appreciate that I'm a morning person," I said to him. He mrrowed impatiently and wove in between my feet. "Not helping, man."

Tom fed, I started the attempt to locate my phone. I checked the bed and all counters and tables before finding it in my jacket pocket. There were several texts. I winced, scrolling through them.

Johannson, 1:59 a.m.: _What the hell was that about? Are you all drunk? I'm not bailing you out of jail. Tell Chris to call me when he's not slurring his words._

Martinez, 2:03 a.m.: _That was awesome! We need to go out again._

Martinez, 6:10 a.m.: _I take it back. Marissa just left the house, David wouldn't go back to sleep, and I'm pretty sure I'm not completely sober yet._

I shook my head and ignored them for the moment. I'd answer at a more reasonable hour.

For the first time in a couple of weeks I didn't have anywhere to be all day. No meetings, no appointments, nothing. It was kind of a weird feeling. I wasn't used to not having anything to do, a habit further ingrained by constant vigilance on Mars.

Cleaning my small apartment didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. I wasn't messy to begin with, so it consisted of picking up laundry, making the bed, and wiping down every surface I could reach. Well, that and completely changing the litter in Tom's box. I wrinkled my nose as a toxic cloud of stale litter dust billowed up, making a note to ask Mindy if there was a brand that wasn't so dusty. I hated that. The whole point of litter was to cut down on mess. Whatever, cat people are weird.

It was time to call Beck and see if he was alive. He didn't answer his cell phone, so I called his office instead. It took him a couple of rings to pick up.

"Christopher Beck." He definitely sounded like he could use a couple more hours of sleep.

"Good morning to you, too," I said as sunnily as possible.

"Watney?"

"The one and only."

"Alright, two questions: do you know where my cell phone is?"

"I believe it's beside the asparagus in your refrigerator," I told him. There was a good four second pause.

"My refrigerator? Why is it in there?" He asked.

"I put it there. Seriously, there are way too many vegetables for one man in that thing. What was your second question?"

"Why isn't Beth talking to me?" I could hear the pleading in his voice.

"Probably because you drunk dialled her at, like, two in the morning. Which, coincidentally, is why I hid your phone in the fridge. Didn't want you to call her again and accidentally propose." I wasn't going to bring up the fact that I'd tackled him into some bushes unless I had to. I could always blame Martinez.

"I only followed about half of that, but at this point I'm not sure I want to know," Beck said, sighing. "I have to go. I'll hear the rest of what is apparently an interesting story, that I don't recall much of, later when I'm not so hung-over."

"Works for me." Maybe I could come up with something really outrageous and scare his socks off by then. He hung up on me with a muttered "bye."

I was at a loss as to what to do with the rest of my day. Netflix? Been there, done that. Everyone I hung out with was working, and I mused that maybe I should branch out and make some more friends. Don't get me wrong, I liked the ones I had, but I also didn't want to be too clingy. I was a strong, independant astronaut that didn't need coddling. Right. Too bad I had zero desire to interact with new people for the most part. Maybe Mindy would have ideas about things I could do to meet people that weren't terrifying. Didn't she go to a weekly cat meeting or something?

Before I could get too far in my deliberations, my phone rang. The caller ID said it was Martinez.

"Hello?" I answered cautiously. I couldn't figure out why he'd be calling me at eight in the morning.

"Hey Mark," he greeted, "look, sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I could ask a favor."

"You don't even need to ask," I told him. It was true; I owed him a lot, but besides that, he was my best friend. "What do you need?"

"Marissa just called. Her mother has pneumonia and was just admitted to the hospital. She lives alone, so we need to go get her and go up to Philly to make sure she's ok and give her a hand. Would you be able to watch David for the day? I don't want to drag him to the hospital to just wait around."

"Of course. Want me to come get him?" It hadn't been what I was expecting, but I could do that. Especially for Martinez, who never asked for anything.

"Thanks, man." He sounded relieved. I guess it was hard to find someone to babysit last minute. "I'll drop him by your place on our way out of town. It'll be about half an hour."

"Sounds good," I affirmed. "I'll come down and meet you."

"Thanks again, Mark." He hung up.

I looked around, trying to figure out if I needed to child proof anything. It was just one day with mini Martinez. Piece of cake.

* * *

I was waiting when Martinez pulled into the parking lot. He looked kind of stressed out, but I happened to know that he got along really well with his mother-in-law, so that wasn't a surprise.

"Hey," I greeted as he got out.

"Hi. Long time no see. Let me get David out of his booster seat and unbuckle that in case you need to go somewhere." He moved around to the sliding side door and started undoing the multitude of straps. Marissa got out of the car and walked over.

"Thanks for this, Mark," she said.

"Anytime. Seriously," I told her. I had been a little nervous around Martinez' wife the first couple of times we'd seen each other after getting back. I guess I'd been afraid that she hated me for keeping her husband from her for so long and endangering him even more. She had caught on and set me straight. Marissa was a strong woman, and she worried, but luckily didn't blame me. Martinez was one lucky guy.

"Is there anything I need to know about taking care of him?" I asked her. "Allergies or something?"

She shook her head, her curly hair bouncing. "No, no allergies. If you can get him to take a nap sometime this afternoon that would be good, but I'm not sure he will since he's not at home. I packed some snacks, but he eats normal food when he's not being picky."

"Cool." Martinez chose that moment to finally set David on the ground, miraculously freed from the car seat. He came over to his mother immediately.

David Martinez, four and a half years old, looked so much like his dad that it was almost disconcerting, although his dark curly hair took after his mom. He looked up at me with large brown eyes, clutching a stuffed toy dinosaur.

"Hi Uncle Mark," he said very seriously. Kids may not always know what's going on, but they can pick up on a mood.

"Hey, buddy," I said, crouching down so I was at eye level with him. "You ready to have a fun day?"

"What're we gonna do?" He asked. Valid question.

"It's a surprise," I told him. I had some ideas in mind, but nothing concrete yet. So I guess it was going to be a surprise to me too. "But it's going to be way more fun than riding in a car all day." He considered for a moment, and seemed to agree with me.

"Ok," he acquiesced. This kid was really easy going.

Martinez deposited the car seat on the ground beside me and handed over a large tote bag. "You'll need this, just in case. Couple of changes of clothes, snacks, some toys and coloring books." He turned to his son. "Alright David, Mom and I have to go take care of Grandma. Be good for Uncle Mark, okay?" He picked him up and gave him a hug. Marissa did the same, saying something in Spanish. I think it was along the same lines as Martinez.

I took David's hand as they pulled out of the parking lot. He was just tall enough for me to do so without having to bend down. He waved with his other hand.

"Okay," I said out loud, "time to go inside. Ready?"

David nodded, sniffling a little. From what I knew of kids, which admittedly wasn't very much, they didn't like sudden changes in plans. That made two of us. I was just relieved that he wasn't getting super upset about being left alone with a guy he barely knew.

* * *

Somehow I made it back to my apartment with the car seat, tote bag, _and_ David in tow. It was a miracle. Seriously, what on earth was in this bag? Bricks?

David took a moment to examine the room, and I took a moment to catch my breath and remind myself not to cuss in front of the small child. He squealed, and I turned in alarm, but he had just seen Major Tom.

"Kitty!" He cried, making a beeline for the grey cat who had been asleep on one end of the couch. Tom sniffed him curiously as David started to pet him very enthusiastically.

"Be gentle, buddy," I said. "The point is to pet the cat, not squish him."

"What's his name?" The kid asked.

"Major Tom. You can call him Tom, though. That's what I do." He continued to coo over my cat, reminding me of Mindy, while I looked through the bag. It was pretty much just what Papa Martinez had said. Nothing very inspiring.

"Hey David, have you had breakfast?" I asked him. Maybe we could burn a half hour or so.

"Yeah, we had cereal," he said, still intent on the cat, who seemed content to be gushed over. Such a ham, Tom. "Mama makes pancakes, but Dad always burns them so he made cereal."

I snickered. Figures. Martinez always tried to cook things too fast. Suddenly an idea came to me. "Do you like bugs?

"Yeah, I know lots about bugs." David eyed me like I might have some hidden away somewhere. "They're almost as cool as dinosaurs."

"Wanna go see some really cool butterflies?" The U.S. Botanical Gardens had a section for a butterfly garden, and since it had been warm lately the butterflies would be out and about.

"Yeah, ok," he said, giving Tom a final pat on the head. The cat promptly went back to sleep.

Of course, that meant hauling the car seat all the way downstairs again.

* * *

I could immediately tell that David loved the butterfly gardens. Luckily I'd been right, and it was starting to get warm enough for there to actually _be_ butterflies. Many of the plants were in bloom, and the small, colorful insects flitted from flower to flower.

"Whoah," David gasped. "Look at all the butterflies!" He craned his neck to look up at me. "Can I go closer?"

"Sure," I said, "just don't go off the path or try to catch them, okay? Their wings are delicate." He nodded vigorously and ran forward to get a better look.

I trailed behind him, watching as he followed the butterflies around. Personally, I was really enjoying being outside around plants and gardens. D.C. had some nice parks and things, but unless you were really interested in grass there wasn't much to look at. It was all very utilitarian.

David tugged at my hand. "Look at this one!" He pointed to a blue butterfly perching on a lilac bush.

"That one is really cool," I told him.

"That's my favorite," he informed me. He was practically bouncing up and down in excitement.

We made our way through the butterfly gardens and then out into the rest of the gardens. David didn't really want to leave the butterflies, but I promised him we'd swing back around to see them again before we left.

As we walked I pointed out cool plants to him, saying their names. David tried to repeat some of the scientific names, but couldn't get his mouth around them.

"That's too long," he informed me. "It's blue like Optimus Prime, so I'm gonna call it an autobot flower."

"Sounds good to me." Who was I to argue with that logic?

We spent several hours wandering around checking things out. David liked to lean as close as he could to the flowers and try to see what they smelled like. Eventually, though, he got tired. I ended up carrying him on our way out.

"Can we still see the butterflies again?" He asked.

"Yeah, we can do that." We would walk right past it anyway.

David squirmed to be let down when he saw the butterflies again, drawing on some reserve of energy that little kids seemed to possess.

"Your son is really cute," a woman said as she was walking past.

"Oh, uh, he's not my son, but thanks," I stammered, caught off guard. David chose that moment to come running up.

"Uncle Mark, the yellow one landed on my hand!" He looked thrilled. The woman giggled and moved on. Oh well.

"That's really cool, buddy. Ready to go?"

"Yeah," he nodded, holding his arms out to be picked up again. I obliged. "Was that lady making eyes at you?"

"What?"

"That's what Mama says when ladies smile a lot at Dad. She doesn't like it."

"Oh." Smart kid. "Um, no, she was just saying hi. No one is making eyes at anybody, least of all me."

"But Miss Mindy smiles at you a lot," David pointed out, tilting his head curiously. I coughed.

"She just likes to smile," I muttered. I was so not going there with a four year old. I wasn't even sure what I would even say anyway. I couldn't figure out how I felt about Mindy, and it was kind of scary. "That lady just said you were cute," I tried as a distraction tactic. It worked-David scrunched up his face like it was an insult.

"I don't wanna be cute," he said.

"Yeah," I laughed, "I don't know if you get a say in that."


	20. Chapter 20

**It's short, but think of it as an apology for such a long wait. I will try to write some wrap-up chapters in the near future. Thanks for not abandoning me!**

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"Go fish," Mindy proclaimed triumphantly.

"What cards do you even have?" I grumbled. "Are you using the right deck?" I pulled a card off the top of the pile. It still wasn't the purple fish I needed. Dagnabbit.

"You're just mad that you can't win at a game made for small children," she retorted. I heard Martinez snicker in the kitchen.

"Like you could do better!" I yelled at him.

It was our monthly crew game night. Sure, we were no longer technically a crew, but I don't think anyone cared for technicalities. We usually stuck to board games, but anything was fair game. Except Monopoly. That had been banned after Martinez and I had gotten into a land dispute, Mindy got permanently stuck in jail, Johannson and Beck had been too busy flirting, and Lewis had surreptitiously bought out everyone. No more Monopoly.

Tonight we had already played several card games and alternating rounds of battleship. Mindy and I were playing Go Fish while everyone else took a snack break.

Martinez plopped back down with a bowl of popcorn and handed Mindy a capri sun. I raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you a little old for juice pouches?"

"Aren't you a little old to be jealous of my juice pouch?" She returned fire. Fair point.

"Why don't we play scrabble?" Martinez suggested eagerly. I glared at him. Be casual, dude.

"We'll have to take turns," said Lewis. She was the only one of us with a good poker face.

"Somebody else can go first," Johannson said, unfolding herself from the couch. "I have to pee." She disappeared down the hallway.

"Go, go, go," I hissed, already dumping letters onto the floor. "Grab what you need. And for god's sake, Martinez! _Casual!"_

"I'm always casual," he hissed back, grabbing an R.

"Both of you shut up," Lewis muttered. Mindy was stifling giggles.

We had the game mostly set up by the time Johannson was back. Mindy, who had also opted not to play, engaged her in a rousing discussion of traditional Dungeons and Dragons versus Pathfinder. The nerd was strong in these two.

Finally, the board was ready. It was a good thing that Mindy was a talker, because the rest of us were not doing so well in that department. So far, though, everything was going as we had rehearsed it. And we had practiced extensively-Beck wouldn't have it any other way. But now it was up to him.

He cleared his throat. "Hey Beth?" She looked down at him. He was sitting in front of her spot on the couch, and now he rolled over to his knee. Her eyes widened. "I love you. Will you marry me?" His movement had brought the Scrabble board into view, spelling out "Mrs. Chris Beck?" Someone-probably Mindy, judging from the neat writing-had drawn a question mark on a blank tile.

Johansson looked from the board to Beck. Then she tackled him.

"Of course I will," she said. Then she kissed him hard enough to make me blush. The rest of us just cheered.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hi guys. It's been awhile, huh? A lot has happened since I last touched this story, and it's honestly been a mixed bag. I'm extremely grateful for your** **continued support and the reviews and favorites that ended up prompting me to write one more chapter. I knew that the story needed a bit more closure, but** **it's been so long since I've written for it that I feel like I've lost the rhythm of it, so if it seems like a different tone than the rest of the fic, that's probably why.** **Still, I wanted to try. I haven't even logged into this account for so long, and I am amazed at the response from people. I hope that this last chapter is something** **you all will like!**

* * *

Everyone else was still sleeping, as far as I knew, but the view of the sunrise was incredible from the porch of the cabin we were renting. It had been a little over a year since Beck and Johannson got hitched in a very classy wedding, one I was almost positive was down to Johannson's meticulous planning. In fact, I was sure of it since Beck had called me multiple times leading up to the big day questioning why they couldn't just get married at the courthouse. Sometimes I wondered how he had such a high IQ when he asked such dumb questions.

The crew had decided to take a trip to Tennessee, just outside of Gatlinburg. At first it was just a spur of the moment thing, a sort of reward for surviving the frantic activity surrounding the launch of another shuttle into space. But it had been so nice-barring when Martinez almost set the place on fire trying to figure out how to turn on the gas stove-that we were thinking of making it an annual tradition. Lewis and Martinez had brought along their significant others, and the rest of us had brought ourselves. Vogel hadn't been able to come, but we had set up a video chat with him the night before.

You would have thought that with so many people in one place it would have felt overcrowded, but the cabin was seriously huge. I don't know how Annie had even known it existed. When I think of a cabin, I think of a one-roomed log house that Abraham Lincoln built with his bare hands. This was bigger than some mansions I had seen, built out of cedar with soaring ceilings and one wall that was completely made of windows. Impressive was an understatement. Mindy had thrown out the term "glamping" when we had pulled up, but I wasn't about to complain that we weren't being deprived of hot water or central cooling.

The covered porch was my favorite spot. It wrapped around the whole place, but if you sat on the east side the view of the mountains was worth a lot more than even the considerable amount that we had paid to rent the place. The sunsets were pretty great too, but I was partial to dawn.

The back door banged open and closed as Mindy shambled out and slumped onto the porch swing beside me. She had a plaid blanket wrapped around her and was clutching a mug shaped like a fox like it was made of gold even though-judging from the smell-it only had the jet fuel she passed off as coffee in it.

"Sleep well?" I asked. She grunted at me, which I guess was only fair since it wasn't even seven yet. We sat in silence while the sun crept higher over the treeline. The cluster of vacation cabins was on the edge of a national park that was all rolling, forested hills. The trees caught the light and reflected it back all green and shimmering, like something out of a fairytale. Hansel and Gretel probably got lost in woods like these.

"It's so quiet," Mindy said suddenly. She had apparently consumed enough caffeine to form sentences. I considered. The cicadas hadn't started up yet, and birds were still working up to serious twittering. There wasn't even really a breeze to get things rustling.

"I guess so," I said. "It's kind of peaceful."

"You don't think it's lonely?" Mindy asked. She pulled her legs up onto the seat beside her and leaned against my side, a warm weight.

"Nah," I said, bending to kiss the top of her head. "Not here, and not with you."

She turned her face up towards me and I kissed her on the lips this time.


End file.
